Of Love and Loss
by dutiesofcare
Summary: The Doctor walks into a small diner and finds himself telling a young barista the stories of his most recent adventures through time and space. Set during S10.
1. The Pilot

**A/N: Well, this is something I had been planning to do for a while. A series of oneshots set right after each episode of series ten, in which the Doctor finds himself telling the stories of his new adventures to a certain unfamiliar face. I can't tell where this is going, since I'm relying entirely on s10's story line, but I do hope to bring justice to twelve and all that he has lost. For now, this will be mainly centralized on the Doctor, but it will have mentions of Bill, Nardole and** ** _the one he can't remember._ I don't have any betas, so I apologize for any casual grammar and orthographic slips. ****I hope you'll enjoy this :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.**

 **PS: This chapter is set sometime between the Doctor demanding Bill to leave his office before he changed his mind and him coming back to welcome her aboard the TARDIS.**

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 ** _"I loved you until you became words and stories, poetry and dreams; immortal in every book and every sunrise." – David Jones._**

* * *

The grey-haired man walked into the small diner set on the fourth moon of Twilah.

He spotted a barista with the corner of his eyes. She seemed lovely, friendly to say the least, and he couldn't help himself but to study her face lines; a pair of brown eyes – eyes so big that could swallow entire galaxies –, a jawline sharper than a knife, eyebrows in a very defined arch, along with a pointy nose, all fit in a peculiar round face. He didn't mind the view.

The young woman grew a warmth smile the moment she saw the customer. "Hi, can I help you?"

The Doctor offered her a single nod, heading towards the bar. He seemed to take a very long time choosing which seat he should take, even though he was the only person in the diner. The barista just stared at him curiously.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, standing right in front of him, in the opposite side of the balcony. She didn't bother herself to hide away the happy expression she had on. She almost seemed _too happy._

"I forgot my wallet," he lied. He wasn't sure what had led him there, he had just followed his guts. Or had it been his hearts, he didn't know. Couldn't.

The girl followed to serve him anyway. "You're not a local, are you."

Slowly, he took a sip. It oddly tasted much alike common British tea. "What gave me away?"

"Your eyes," she exclaimed, staring right at them. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed she was hypnotized by them. "They're the eyes of someone who has seen the wonders of the universe."

The Doctor chuckled, "Funnily enough, I've been told that not so long ago. That I _smell_ like someone who's been places."

Amusedly, she nodded. "You do smell like it, yeah."

He shot his shoulders up and down. "Takes one to know one."

She buffed, agreeing. "I used to travel a lot. With a friend. Now I try to travel as often as I can, but it's just not the same."

It was the Doctor's turn to stare at her big and _sad_ eyes, even if she tried to diverge them away. "What happened to your friend?"

"Fate," she smiled sadly, but was quick enough to change the attention back to him, "Is she nice?"

He rose one of his eyebrows, at loss. "Who's nice?"

"The girl who told about your _smell_ ," she grinned.

He let out a long breath, one he didn't know he was holding. "Yes. I'm her tutor, at the universe I work."

The barista placed some cookies in front of him. "You're a professor? Fancy."

"Just for now," he shook his head, "I don't like being settled down, but I figured it was time to take a break. At least until I got some perspective back. I need time… time to remember," he sounded almost like a plead.

The lady rested her jawline against the palm of her hand. "Did you lose someone?"

The Doctor ironically laughed, "I lose people all the time. People come and go, that comes with what I do. The problem isn't losing someone – well, it is, but they always live on inside of you, the problem is losing someone and not being able to remember them. How they talked, or how they smiled, or even how they smelled. That's what kills you the most."

"I'm sorry," her voice was distant, almost inaudible, but it was there anyway, "I hope you remember them, though."

"Yeah, me too," he mumbled, taking a bite from the cookie in his hand.

The barista straightened up. "Tell me about this student of yours. A story for the cookies."

"Fair enough," he grinned, trading looks from the girl to the cookie and vice-versa, "She's an eager student. Always on time, very curious – too curious. Asks the questions everybody is always afraid to ask. Asks why I teach poetry when I'm supposed to be teaching physics."

She interrupted him instantaneously. "Why do you teach poetry when you're supposed to teach physics?"

"Because they're the same. They both dance with you, they both rely on the rhymes. If you can't feel the poetry in the physics, or see the physics in the poetry, then you're just doing it wrong," he explained.

"Alright…" she cleared her throat, leaving her uncertainty behind.

Shrugging, he carried on, "I like that on her. The other day, she told me about this puddle, a puddle that changes the reflection of somebody's face, even if it remains the same."

Her eyes enlarged, "That is a first."

"It is," he agreed, "So I had to go check it for myself. There was something wrong about my face. And then I realized, our reflection only seemed wrong because it was right. It wasn't inverted like every time we look at ourselves in the mirror."

The girl was getting more amazed by the minute. "How can a puddle do that?"

"Because it wasn't a puddle, and it wasn't our reflection either," he had a smirk on his face, almost too proud of his story, "It wasn't just water, it was something mimicking us," he was sure to add the suspense to his voice, "Of course, I told Bill, my student, to go home. She did, which was a first – they're always too stubborn to follow my advice – but she came back."

She cracked a laugh, "It seems to me she was stubborn enough only to follow your advice for only a couple of hours."

"It wasn't her fault, not really," he argued, "She was being chased by water itself, or whatever was behind the water, coming back to me saved her life."

Her eyes were glowing with intrigue, "Was she really being stalked by water?"

He hummed, "Actually, the water was mimicking a girl, _her crush_. Only problem was that the crush wanted to kill her. So I did what any sane person would do, I shoved her to inside my box."

Her eyes frowned, "You never mentioned a box."

"I didn't? Well, I've got this box that's actually a spaceship in disguise. The most secure spaceship, and it can travel to anywhere, anytime. People don't usually believe me, however. She herself mistook it for a _kitchen_ , can you believe that? A bloody kitchen," he sounded too offended at such insinuation.

The girl grew a laugh simply, silently waiting for more.

"Bill then asked me if there was a toilet, surely the second weirdest question anyone's ever asked after first boarding my ship."

"Which one was the first?" she couldn't help but ask.

His face suddenly shut off, "I think… I think I remember someone once asking if there was a kitchen. You see, a toilet is reasonable, people have necessities. But a kitchen? Puff."

"They could have been hungry…?" she suggested.

"She wanted to _bake a soufflé_. All of time and space standing right in front of her and she wants to bake the soufflé herself. She could only be one of a kind, I'll give her that."

She smiled sadly, "Is she the one you can't remember?"

"I think so, yeah," his face went numb for a while. "Anyway, we were suddenly being attacked by an extraterrestrial force, so we traveled through space. Still within the university. A _lift,_ as she would call it. It followed us. So, I took us the opposite side of the planet, Australia. Unluckily enough, we then found out that same force could travel through space as well. We were left with one alternative only: move through time. I took us to the end of the universe, where the skies are made of lemon drops."

Her face glowed at his last words, "Are they really?"

The Doctor laughed at her innocence, "No, but how pretty would it be."

She wasn't able to hold back a laugh, "So, did it? Follow you through time as well?"

He sighed. "Yes, leaving me with one alternative's alternative: take us to the most dangerous place in the universe, the one place we knew it could be destroyed. We landed at Dalek ground."

Her face was frightened with shock. "I've seen Daleks before, not the most welcoming creatures."

He buffed, nodding, "If you've seen a Dalek and survived to tell the story, then you're a brave girl," he said and she blushed.

"Like I told you, I used to travel," she bit her lower lip, "And then what? Did your plan work?"

"Not really," he made a face, "It mimicked a Dalek for a while, but then it went back to mimicking the girl Bill fancied. I went from running to having a one-way conversation with her, but it wasn't me who figured it all out. Bill did."

She waited.

"Right before the water killed the girl, she had promised Bill she wouldn't leave without her. It was romantic, to say the least. The final imprint on her conscience had been taken by the water, that's why she kept following us. Following Bill. It was only when Bill let her go of her promise that the alien force left her."

"That's depressing," she concluded, "She just didn't want to be alone."

"Yes, but taking somebody down with you isn't the way to do it," he debated, taking one last sip of his drink.

She slowly nodded her head. "I bet Bill was thrilled with all that she had seen."

"Can you blame her?" the Doctor pondered. "But she couldn't be. I wasn't ready for her to be. I still haven't found my answers, I haven't found _her_. She can't be when I'm not. So, I had to do it, I had to wipe away her memories."

The bartender's face saddened. "You don't seem like the kind of person who would do that."

He sighed, "I didn't. I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because she reminded me of how it feels like not remembering something, _someone._ Someone you clearly cared for, someone who was essential to you. Someone for whom you had a duty of care."

She could have sworn she saw the glimpse of a tear in the corner of his eyes, but it went away too quickly for her to be sure. "That's noble of you."

He chuckled, ironically. "I told her to go. I'm not ready to start traveling again, especially with somebody new, a companion that is not _her_. I know it might be selfish of me, but I can't. I just can't."

"Why can't you?" she hissed, but her voice was stuck in her throat, "The woman you lost is gone, you don't own her anything."

"I made a promise, I can't just break it!" he almost yelled, but still loud enough.

"Of course you can, you just don't want to," she spoke softly, unlike him, "And I think you're more than ready to."

He stared right into her eyes, almost intimidating her, almost _pleading_ her, "What should I do, then?"

"Go back to her," her tone had gotten a little more pitched, "Go back _for_ her while there's still time. Just think to yourself, _what the heck_ , and go with it. You need it, and so does she."

Reluctantly, he seemed to agree. "But what about _her_?"

Her face's serenity didn't change. "It's a big universe. Maybe one day you will find her."

His sad eyes met hers, and they didn't say anything else. Everything that needed to be said being spoken in the silence. He got up, and walked in a slow pace to the front door. He could feel her stare on him, but daren't to look back, not until he reached the entrance, "Your name, you never told me it."

Her lips formed half a smile, "You never told me yours."

He cracked a laugh, one that she made sure to join, before closing the door behind him and walking back to his TARDIS.

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 **A/N: So, should I carry on with this? Any feedback is much appreciated ^-^**


	2. Smile

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback!**

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 **"** **Life _went on, but it was never the same again." – David Jones_**

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The Doctor eyed the little eatery with the corner of his eyes, on his way back to the TARDIS. He frowned, he really didn't recall it being there when they first arrived. Weird, he thought to himself, his memory being his greatest ally. Apart from a few gaps, that is.

"Bill, go back to the TARDIS. I need a few moments," he instructed, avoiding eye contact, too busy staring at the recently appeared construction.

"You okay?" she pondered, wishing more than ever he'd still gotten his mood badge so she could have a proper reading of his feelings. She didn't know him for long, but she still found it impossible to have a sense at least of what went through his head.

"Yeah," he nodded his head vigorously, "Go now. Off you pop. I'll be back in a mo'."

"Alright," reluctantly, she agreed, watching him wander off to God knows where, before finding her own way back to the spaceship.

Pacing in a slow motion, the Doctor reached for the entrance of the little restaurant. He was surprised to find a barista already there when he walked in. He cleared his throat, trying to get her attention.

Looking towards him, the young girl smiled, "Ah, our first customer. Welcome!"

He forced half a grin on his lips, studying her carefully, "You work fast. The town has been running for what, half an hour now?"

"Forty seven minutes, actually," she joked, pointing at the clock, "Actually, my mum left it ready for me, for the day of the arrival, so meanwhile everybody was off fighting smiley robots, I came here to set everything up."

He made a face, almost believing her story, before taking a seat in front of the balcony. "Your mum, where is she now?"

She shot her shoulders up and down, "I don't know, where are all the people who came here before us?"

"Dead," he spat, harshly.

The girl's face saddened instantly, but she did her best now to let her composure fall, "Well, I guess death is a part of life, isn't it? We all die in the end, that's the only thing in our lives we get to be sure about."

Licking his own lips, he agreed, "I suppose it is," he looked up to stare at her big sad eyes, "I'm sorry for your loss."

The barista smiled sadly, "I'm sorry for your loss, too."

He rose an eyebrow, intrigued, "Who said I've lost anybody?"

"Your eyes," she confessed, glancing right into them, "You look like you've lost somebody you cared for recently."

The Doctor chuckled, satirically, "Does it count as a loss if you can't remember what you've lost?"

"Every loss is a loss," she debated, leaning her back against the counter.

He took a long breath, tapping his fingers melodically against the surface of the balcony. "How do we deal with them?"

"I don't know," she bit her lower lip, "I'm still learning myself."

"If you ever find the answers," he teased, "Then please let me know."

"Will do," she shrugged.

Buffing, he let his eyes wander around the place. "Your mum did a tidy job here."

"Can I get you anything?" she seemed to have ignored him, "It's on the house."

He opened his mouth to object, but changed his mind in the midst of his actions, "Why not."

Smiling – more to herself than to him, she moved to provide him something, "We have, um, red algae, green algae, blue algae, and a few more whose colors are too untrusting to be eaten."

He gave some serious thinking to his upcoming answer, "What do they taste like?"

She squeezed her eyes, "I haven't got a clue."

He couldn't help himself but to crack a laugh, "Tell you what, why don't we find out together?"

The lady offered him a smirk, as she grabbed all the tiny little cubicles and laid them on the table, before taking a seat in the opposite side of him. She watched as he carefully chose one, then randomly grabbing one herself, "So, who are you?"

The Doctor was too busy staring at the _food_ to sustain the eye contact, "Who are _you_?"

She threw a pink algae inside her mouth, "I'm just a girl with a diner."

He tilted his head in agreement, "And I'm just a guy in a diner."

She grinned, amusedly, "Fair enough."

He didn't settle with his answer, however, "I got here a little before you humans awoke, actually. Had to arrange a few things for the arrival."

"Really? Like a caretaker?" she pondered, her eyes sparkling oddly.

"There's a little bit more to it than just a caretaker," he argued, a little offended at her insinuations. "More like… a helpline."

She frowned, "How is a helpline any better than a caretaker?" she pondered.

"Guess it's not, it just sounds fancier," his brows arched themselves in a very high bow.

She beckoned, playing with another algae between her fingertips. "Are you going to tell me why we were in need of a helpline?"

He scratched his chin, uncertain, "Why would I?"

"I'm giving you free food," she argued.

"Fair enough," he made her words, his.

He didn't just blurt it out, however. The Doctor raised his head, leaving all the cubicles untouched – he could have just walked away, since he hadn't gotten around to eat any, but something about her had impacted him, and he felt like he owed her a story, at least. He had no idea why, he just knew he did.

The girl was starting to get uncomfortable by the way he was staring at her, _almost memorize her features_ , and she made sure to divert her eyes. "Well, go on, then."

The Doctor still made sure to take his time, "I've recently started to travel with a new companion, so I asked her where did she want to see first, and she told me: the future."

"You're saying that you're not just the helpline, but can also travel in time?" she questioned, already forgotten of her discomfort.

"One comes with the other," he mumbled, before coming back to his story, "So my spaceship brought us here. The land of the happy, of new beginnings, of new opportunities."

"Did she like it?" the barista queried, being the one to search back for his ocean eyes,

"What's there not to like it?" he snapped, a bit too rudely for her liking, but she let it pass, "We were welcomed by the Vardies, who then offered us mood badges. We were fool enough to take them."

"They're just standard badges, everybody gets them after waking up," she argued, having her own thrown somewhere in the mess of the counter. She made sure not to put it on.

"Standard until you start _feeling something,_ until you _stop being happy_ , and then, and then they come for you."

Her eyes were wide with intrigue. "Who comes for you?"

"The Vardies," he had half a smirk on his face, "The robots that came to assure happiness, stopping anything that would get in the way of such happiness, including life itself."

She swallowed hard, almost too scared at the situation, _even if she had seen worse_. "Why would they do that?"

"Because they were programmed to do so," he had no other reason, no other explanation. "They didn't know any better."

"What did you do?" her lips were left half opened, too curious.

"The only thing I could do, of course, try to blow up the spaceship."

She made a face, grunting, "Doesn't really seem like it worked. The spaceship is still intact."

The Doctor snorted, in acknowledgement, "There was a little convenient inconvenience in my way: humans."

She rose a brow, "Why do you always make us sound like the bad guys?"

He stared at her suspiciously, "Have you seen the human race?"

She bowed her head, hesitantly, "Yes. But not all humans are bad. There's still good in some of them. The bad doesn't always overtake the good."

His tongue vigorously traveled his lips, "Guess you're right. You're not so bad yourself."

The barista blushed instantaneously.

Without expecting an answer, he carried on, "After we learned you humans were already here, he couldn't just blow up the spaceship, so I had to undone everything that I had done already, clueless towards what I could do to save the remaining population of Earth."

Her eyes were craving for more.

"Bill, my companion, called me to see something; an old lady, naturally deceased, not murdered like all the first colonies that got here, and then, like one plus one equals two, it all started to make sense."

"I don't get it," she confessed.

"Wouldn't expect you to," he mumbled, arrogantly, "You see, grief is consequence of death. It's pure math; somebody dies, somebody mourns for the dead, it's the circle of life. So, when people started to mourn for the old lady, the Vardies couldn't comprehend such a feeling. Grief was an enemy of happiness, so they eradicated it. Of course, the more they killed people, the more people grieved for them. So they just carried on eliminating it, until no single human was left standing."

She placed a lock of her hair behind her ear, "What would happen to us, then? When we learned about our family's death, we would naturally grief for them as well, right? Would they have killed us until no human would have been left standing?"

"They would have exterminated you until the very last," he blurted out loud, mercilessly, "So of course you dumb humans decided to take matter into your own hands and kill the Vardy themselves."

She clinched her teeth together, "That can't be good."

"Of course not," he babbled, "Humans and guns; when will they learn that words win wars?"

She simply grinned, waiting.

"They attacked the Vardy. Killed them, destroyed them. Well, they would have destroyed them all hadn't the robots felt under attack. The Vardy struck back. Again, it's simple math: killing leads to killing," he hassled, more annoyed than before.

"Tough day to be a human. Or a Vardy," she humored, not really expecting him to be amused.

Surprisingly, he looked smug, "Accurate. The Vardy would have won, hadn't a scary, handsome genius from space interfered and pressed the reset button."

"Wonder who that might be," she laughed, amazedly.

He didn't appreciate her insinuations, however. "I wiped their memories, they don't haven't got a clue of who you humans might be."

"Lucky for us, I guess," she assumed, humming, almost a relieved look on her face.

"Yes," he concluded, "You humans now get to start over, with no prominent threat to your survival. I just hope this time around you won't destroy another planet."

"Me too," she confessed, condescendingly smiling, slightly.

Letting out a long breath, he gathered all the tiny cubicles together, before repeating her words, "Me too."

The bartender leaned back, sighing, "Well, where are you off to next?"

The Doctor shot his shoulders up and down, "Planet Earth, 21st century. I've got to look for a few things, a few promises I promised to keep."

She nodded, almost unnoticeably, "Look for what you've lost?"

"In a sense, yeah," he agreed, out of the sudden avoiding eye contact, sad to say the least, "I just don't know where to look first."

She scratched the corner of her eye, _getting rid of what dared to escape there_ , "Maybe fate will bring you right into her."

He frowned his forehead, puzzled, "How did you know it's a her?"

She shrugged, indifferently, "Somethings you just know."

He rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand, "Yeah, well, fate has gotten an old habit of letting me down," he snickered.

She smiled, sadly, "Maybe fate still holds a few surprises for you."

He sniffed, "I hope so."

With no further notice, he got up, straightening up his jacket, finding his way with his eyes towards the door, "I hope you cope with your loss."

She offered him a closed smile, "I hope you find your loss."

They exchanged one last look, before each following their separate ways.

* * *

 **A/N: So, what do you all think? Any feedback is much appreciated *-***


	3. Thin Ice

**"** **It's not darkness in my heart, just emptiness waiting for the sun." – David Jones**

* * *

"Is there a franchise of this diner?"

The young girl's attention was attracted by the sudden voice, harsh and cold, much like the winter weather, and she turned around to see the grey-haired man walking into her small facility. "I'm sorry?"

"A franchise," he repeated, twisting his nose in the air, "I'm under the feeling I've seen this same diner somewhere sometime else.

The barista studies his peculiar face carefully, "If there were, I think the family business would be much better off than it is right now."

"Right," he muffed under his breathing, rubbing the palms of his hands one against the other, "And are you sure you don't have a twin sister running around?"

Her eyes were getting wider by the second, "If I had, then my parents did a really good job on hiding her."

He shot his head up and down, reluctantly grabbing one stall, "Do you believe that two people can look very much alike?"

She crossed her brows, licking the corner of her lower lip, "Do I remind you of someone?"

"As a matter of fact, you do," he confessed, "She was also a barista, just like you."

She shrugged to herself, "You know what they say, for every person there are at least another five who look just like them."

He made a face, "Who says that?"

"People," she generalized, grinning slightly.

He snorted, unbelievably, "People should find better things to do than to count how many similars one has got."

She offered him an oppressive look, "Do _you_ have better things to do?"

"Of course I do," he howled, louder than before, "For instance, I punched a racist in the face today."

The girl seemed impressed at his confession, "Not that I condone racism – I don't, at all – but why would you punch them?"

He rolled his eyes, "His was being racist, that's reasonable enough."

She agreed with the bowl of her head, "If you were out to punch all the racists out there, you'd be with a very injured hand in just a few minutes."

The old man scratched his nonexistent beard, "Tell you what, you come and help me and we'll narrow it down significantly before either of us have to get a new hand."

"Sounds like a plan," she smiled, laughing, "You look cold."

He cackled, absurdly, "It's this face, actually. People think it's a cross face, when it's not, it's just the face. I can't help how my face looks like, can I? Particularly, I think it's the brows, they're kind of brows that could get a life of their own and attack you, and I've tried to settle them down, but they're just too stubborn."

"I was talking about the temperature," she managed to withhold a giggle, "But your eyebrows are fine, they're… stylish. People take other people for granted."

"Do you?" he instigated, looking defiant.

"Do _you_?" she provoked back, cornering him, but he didn't seem to mind.

"If I did," he started, vaguely, "I wouldn't save the planet as a hobby."

She gave him a doubtful look, "You? Saving the planet? Why do I have a hard time believing that?"

"I told you, it's the brows," he sighed, disbelieved, "But it's true, nonetheless."

"Yeah?" she hissed, curiously, "Tell me about how you save the world, then."

"You wouldn't believe me," he complained, looking down to stare at his own hands.

"Try me," she insisted, half a smirk on her lips.

"Alright," hesitantly, he agreed. Not out of self-interest, but because her eyes here begging for him to take her away from her mundane life, "Have you by any chance come across something you just can't explain?"

"Lots of time," she confessed with a chuckle, no shame in her words.

"So have I, and this time, I came across lights under the Thames," he told her, gesticulating with his hands, "This young poor boy stole a very important thing of mine, so I followed him down the frost fair, sliding across the frozen river, until we reached a more isolated area, and that's when the lights started to circle the kid, aiming at him, fascinating him like a prey. In fact, he was no more than that."

She felt the horror be written in her face, "What happened to him?"

"He died," he blurted out, indifferently, not because he didn't care, but because he had seen so many deaths in front of him already one more wouldn't make a difference, "But I was able to get my screwdriver back, at least."

The woman scowled at him defiantly, "You're saying you sacrificed his innocent soul because of a tool?"

"No," he scolded at her with the simply flinch of his eyes, "His life was doomed the moment those lights surrounded him. And it's not just a tool, it's a scientific utensil, very helpful when you've got to save London."

She simply swallowed down, expecting him to clarify his story.

He didn't, "Unsurprisingly, my companion was just as shocked as you are. She had never seen anybody die, especially a child, and she confronted me. She wanted to know how many people I've seen die, how many people I've killed."

Her lips fell half opened with intrigue, "Did you answer her?"

"Couldn't", he grunted, "When you're as old as I am, when you live the kind of life I live, you just stop counting. I've lost many people, I've had friends die right in front of me, people I cared for. Had I kept score, my mind would be filled with regret."

"Isn't it already?" she asked gently, softly, almost afraid to ask.

"Not regret; sorrow. Disdain. Watching the people you love face the raven is something that kills you, piece by piece, until you have no pieces left to give, and all that's left of you are the memory of them, little reminders, little trinkets, a lifetime of memories, if you're lucky enough to remember them."

"If you care enough for them, you wouldn't forget them," she argued, her own voice stuck in her throat, knowing how well she'd been in his position.

"In theory," he let out, having a hard time to sustain the eye contact, "But if you're forced to forget, then you're doomed. You can never tell what you're missing, even if you know you're missing it."

"Who were you forced to forget?" she couldn't help herself but ask, resting her jaw against the palm of her hand.

"How can I know if I've forgotten them?" he licked his own lips, pitifully, "All I know is that they were important to me. Very important," he let out a breath, "Where was I again?"

"The amount of people you've seen die," she informed, her voice distant.

"Right, right," he cleared his throat, "After that little confrontation, we were taking to the little tent that sheltered the deceased boy, along his other homeless friends. We learned that those kids were getting paid to lure people to the fair, basically to add them to the menu."

"Why?" was all that escaped her lips.

"No, that's not the right question," he mumbled, "First, you gotta ask who."

"Alright," she agreed, "Who?"

"That, we only found out in the very next morning," he said, getting her to roll her eyes, "The better alternative was to sink down the river and find out what was eating all those people: a creature, a big innocent creature, prisoned by chains."

"That's awful, who would prison them?" she sounded incredulous, even shocked.

"Have you met your kind?" he spat, angrily, "That's what we had to find out. We tracked him down to this big house, and we met him, Mr. Sutcliffe, one thing led to another and I punched him."

She made a face, "Sounds like he really deserved it."

"Oh, he did," he concluded, "We got arrested by his henchmen, gave him an useless speech on how human progress is measured by the value you place on unimportant lives, got thrown into a carriage, taken to a tent and restrained there. Not an easy day to fight against human ignorance."

She nodded, simply.

"Their goal was to blow us up, along the rest of the fair and consequently be used as food for the creature. Didn't work, of course, I used my screwdriver to free us, my companion went off to get everyone out of the frozen ice while I rearranged the chains to be blown up instead of the frost."

"And did it work?" she was anxious to hear the answer.

"You tell me," he winked at her.

"Well, the frost is suddenly gone, there weren't news of major casualties, so it did work," she deduced, too happy with how the story had ended.

"It did," he agreed, "The creature was set free, the man who had her in chains was caught up by fate and eliminated. It was a good ending."

She offered him a smile, but there was still a question stuck in her mind, "What happened to those homeless children? You never mentioned it."

"I got them a home," he bowed his head, "Gave them that big deserving house of the man who didn't deserve it all. My friend is actually still there with them, making company before we pop off."

Her smile grew wider, "They were lucky to have met you, then."

"You could say so," he shot his shoulders up and down.

"So?" she whistled, "What are you going to do next?"

"All men must go home eventually, and this is my time," he confessed.

"Don't you have any more savings to do?" she pondered, watching him as he got up and tossed a coin into the balcony, even if he hadn't consumed anything.

"Saving can wait another day," he smiled sadly, making a sign of goodbye with his hand as he left her there standing, with still many questions in her head.

* * *

 **A/N: any feedback is appreciated :)**


	4. Knock Knock

**"** **It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply." – David Jones.**

* * *

"Let me guess," the Doctor grunted his way into the small canteen that attracted his attention while pacing around London, "You don't have a clone sister neither do you have another restaurant somewhere else in the universe."

The petite girl frowned her eyebrows together, turning around from the plate she was setting clean, "You okay there, sir?"

He shook his head, sinking down at a random table, "I think someone's playing a prank on me."

Hesitantly, she walked towards him, placing the menu in front of him, "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Doctor," he corrected, sounding a little more arrogant than he had intended.

The barista made a face, but letting it go. She wasn't in the mood to deal with snub clients, all she really desired was to call it a day and go home to a nice and warm bath. "Take your time, _Doctor_."

He run his eyes quickly through the piece of plastic paper in his hand, before throwing it away, "Would you fetch me something that will cost me no money?"

She couldn't tell whether he was being funny or not. From the way his eyes were frozen on her, she guessed he was as serious as he knew how to be, "We don't _fetch_ that sort of thing here."

"That's too bad, I was starting to comfortable here," he argued, moving to depart the tidy diner but never actually doing it.

She sighed deeply, coming to terms the sooner she pleased him, she would get free of him. Rolling her eyes, she offered him a bottle of water, free of charge. "Anything else?"

"Yes," he was quick to say, before she had the chance to walk away, "Do you happen to know any places in town for rent?" she stared at him blankly, "I mean, my companion's new place was recently taken down by… by a lice manifestation, and she currently has nowhere to live."

She glanced at him with the corner of her eyes, suspiciously, "I'm afraid I can't help you."

He shot his shoulders up and down, "Heh, it was worth a try."

Carefully, she stepped back into his field of vision, "How exactly can lice tear down a house?"

He chuckled, the answer was too obvious for him, "You underestimate lice, miss," he gestured towards the seat on the opposite side of the table, "Sit down and I'll tell you how," he noticed her big eyes full of doubt, "Come on now, I don't bite."

Reluctantly, she agreed, shyly taking the stool in front of him. "Go on, then. Tell me how."

The Doctor seemed to change his mind abruptly, "Nah, never mind. You'd never believe me."

She angrily tapped her hands across the wooden surface of the table, "You can't do that!"

He leaned on his back, crossing his arms before his chest, "Yes, I can. It's my story."

She shot him a dead look, "I'm giving you free water."

He handled her back the untouched bottle, "I don't want your free water."

She reclined as well, getting as far away from him as possible, but she did no effort of moving. She just carried on staring at the window of his soul, intimidating him the only way she knew how to.

He cleared his throat, bickering his lower labium, "Alright, then, I'll tell you a story."

She smiled in victory, casually resting her arms above the table, not dreading him anymore as she had gotten what she wanted. She silently waited, suddenly forgotten about her rush to head back home.

He enjoyed seeing the curiosity in her eyes, "Have you ever seen a house alive?"

The girl opened her mouth to protest him wrong, but decided against it, knowing he wouldn't tell her the tale if she did, "No…?"

"I noticed something was wrong the moment I saw the place. It was very draughty, and not just in the outside," his eyebrows were dancing on their own as he spoke, "I was kicked out of the house by companion, _she didn't want to look uncool next to her roommates._ But I didn't leave, instead I hid myself inside while analyzing what was happening."

"Bet she wasn't very pleased," she muttered under her breath, not breaking eye contact.

"Of course she wasn't, but what can I do?" he jerked, "Me being there actually saved their lives."

"You really have an ego, don't you," she complained, half a smirk on the corner of her mouth.

He seemed to ignore her, "Anyway, as she found me peeping through the house, she started to yell at me, but that's beyond the point. The information I had gathered was far more interest than her _coolness_ , it was enough reason for them to find another place to live."

"And did they?"

"Of course not," he puffed, "Have you met young adults? They're absolutely out of their mind," the Doctor rolled his eyes, "They said they would call the landholder instead, to fix what I assumed wrong. And then, surprise! The landlord magically shows up."

"A house with life and a magician as landlord?!" she arched her right eyebrow, "That's just crazy."

"There's more craziness in the universe than you might think of," he argued, indifferently, "As the creepy landlord departed, one thing led to another and we were separated, half the group up the house, half of us down the living. But you know what they say, _the tigers come at night."_

Her eyes widened, "There were tigers too?"

He looked annoyed for an instant, "No. But that's when the bugs bite, that's when… _the bugs comes out from under the bed and the house awakens_."

She felt chills running down her spine, "What did the house do?"

"It sealed us in," he added a mysterious tone to his voice, "One by one, the house was consuming us. _Feeding on us._ Well, not the house itself, but something that had gotten into the fabric of the house, eventually becoming the house. Naturally, I started to mess with the wood, touching it, knocking on it, forcing whatever was hiding inside of it to come out. And they did."

"What were there?" she asked in a whispered voice, somewhere during the storytelling leaning closer to him so she could hear him better.

"Lice!" he squealed, almost disappointed, "Alien lice. Next thing we knew, we were in a middle of a bug infestation, but not ordinary bugs, insects that ate us for living. Actually, they didn't look like lice, not at all, but it's surely better than calling them dryads."

The barista made a face, "So this whole thing started by a lie?"

"Does it really matter?" he wrenched on his seat, "What matters is that we had to run for our lives, and so we did, finding our way to the forbidden tower. Did I mention the tower? Because there was a tower and we weren't allowed to step inside it."

She cleared her throat, "I see you have a habit of not following commands."

Once again, he ignored her, "Unsurprisingly, we met the landlord there, but not before finding the belongings to the previous lodgers of the house. Presumably dead. _Presumably eaten by the house._ I started demanding for answers, wanting to know why he was killing people in such an arbitrary manner. I wanted to know why was a human so humanless."

He made a long pause, getting her anxious, "Well? Why did he say?"

He let out a whiff, "Because his daughter was dying, and the alien lice saved her life."

"That's noble… ish."

He winced his nose, "I tried to talk sense into him, showing him I'm a _doctor_ , maybe I could help his daughter, and he agreed. He took me to her, where I met Bill – we were then the last two standing. The daughter had become one hundred percent wood, but she still had a consciousness. Not a lasting memory, just… consciousness."

"That can't be a nice way to stay alive," she debated, saddened.

"It's not," he agreed, "What's the point of surviving if you hide away from the world? Imagine being confined into a small room for the past 70 years, that's disturbing. You know what else it is? Lacking sense."

She stuck her brows together, "What do you mean?"

"If the daughter had been trapped like that for _so long_ , how could her father still be alive?" he prompted, "I wasn't the one to notice it, Bill was, leaving us to one conclusion only: he wasn't her father, he was _her son,_ now more advantaged in age than she was. And like I said, she didn't have a lasting memory, and convincing her he was her father was the only way he had seen to protect her."

She nodded, expecting him to carry on.

"He was just a kid when he learned that the lice could keep his mother alive as long as he cared for them, fed them, because wouldn't you do everything to protect the one who brought you to this world?"

"Wouldn't you?" her voice was soft, caring.

"Not just the one who birthed me," he bowed his head, "But everyone who I ever cared for. Even if it destroyed me, even if kept me in a torture chamber for billions of years, just so I could see their face on the other side. I'd do anything."

She lowered her head, swallowing hard, "That's loyal of you."

He let out a long breath he didn't know he was holding, "But that doesn't mean they wouldn't be crossed with you after learning all the pain you had caused for them. She wasn't. She was beyond mad, so infuriated she did the only thing a sane mother would do to their misbehaved kid. She held him as she let the lice eat both of them, bringing an ending to all that misery, to all that agony."

Her jaw fell slightly open as the story closured itself, shocked.

"She gave us a redeeming gift before she went, she restored all the people that the house had just taken. After that, we just fled away from the inside, watching as the house was completely taken down. Destroyed."

She bit the corner of her lower lip, "No wonder your mate needs a new house."

He silently agreed, impatiently tapping his fingertips melodically against the wooden table.

Had she expected him to say anything, she would be facing a long wait, "Did it really happen? I mean, was it all real?"

He engaged her with a bow of the brows, "What do you think?"

She frowned her eyebrows, "I think that's a hell of a story."

The Doctor chuckled, still glancing at her big brown eyes, "Yeah, me too."


	5. Oxygen

**A/N: I'm not gonna lie, I was so shocked with what happened last episode, but I also got to say that it gave another dimension to his story, and it was both a challenge and a delight for me to write this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did.**

* * *

 **"** **Sometimes, home can be another person." – David Jones**

* * *

The Doctor stumbled inside a building. He had no idea where he was, he didn't know what he led inside the first door the ran into, neither _were_ that door led to. He just followed his instincts, trusting them better than the darkness that surrounded him.

He walked slowly around the cozy ambient, trying to middle in, to stay off radar, at the same time he tried to learn where he had ended up. He doubted anyone could tell about his recent disability, he looked as ordinary as the next human being. That is, until he crashed into what he assumed was a table and a loud noise was spread around the place.

He damned himself, praying that he hadn't gotten anyone's attention. He was sure someone had overheard him, he just hoped it hadn't been enough to cause a fuss. The last thing he needed was people worrying over him – he already paid Nardole for that.

Unfortunately, his wished had not been granted, as he heard a sweet soft voice calling for him, "You okay there?"

He looked at the general source of the sound, offering an almost unnoticeable smile, "Yeah, I'm fine."

His reassuring words didn't appear to be enough to set them off, however, "Can I help you? Get you anything?"

At first, he seemed reluctantly, until he decided to use _their_ eyes for some insight, "Actually, yeah. Can you tell me where we are?"

Surprisingly, the answer took a while to come. He assumed them to be just as lost as he was. "London...?"

The Doctor laughed, almost ironically. "Yeah, I was hoping for something more specific then that."

He heard steps approaching. They were light, like they didn't have to hold too much weight onto them, they were hesitant, there was a great time difference between one and other, _they were there_. "You're in a diner. My diner."

He licked the corner of his lips, their low tone feeding his hearing as he nodded his head, "Have you ever stopped to think how possessive people are nowadays? I blame capitalism. It's always about what _they own_. It's your diner, not just a diner. Really, bums me up."

He felt the air tensing up, and he knew it was entirely his fault. _Stupid Doctor_ , never knew when to stay quiet, "Are you telling me that those aren't _your_ clothes, _your_ shoes, _your_ shades?"

The Doctor was surprised with the comeback – he hadn't expected them to say anything more. "No, those are indeed _my_ things. I never said capitalism hadn't gotten to me as well."

He listened to their laugh, unsure how he had ended up being amusing, as those weren't his intentions. "Fair enough. Don't you want to grab a seat?"

He looked around himself, deciding what he should do next. Of course, he could cross his fingers and wonder in whatever direction, hoping it would lead him to a table, or he could just walk back the way he came in. Instinctively, he did none. "How good are you at keeping secrets?"

He could only assume they were looking at him funnily. "Even if I'm not, I don't think we know anyone in common to tell them your secret, now do we?"

His lips cracked a grin, "Do you want to know _my_ secret?" he made sure to emphasize his pronoun, indirectly making remarks of the capitalism system they both trapped in.

"Sure, why not?"

He gestured with his finger, telling them to come closer. He waited until he could feel their breath next to him, and was surprised when their exhalation barely reached it up his shoulder. He bended his back, until he guessed they were almost at the same height, "I can't see anything."

He wished he could have seen the look on their face – human's expression was great in showing everything they were feeling. "What… What do you mean?"

The Doctor heard their voice coming right into his hears, "I mean that I'm blind."

He was sure he had heard the shock in her upcoming breaths, but he didn't – couldn't – understand why. Blindness wasn't such a rare defect, it was almost impossible to walk around London and have never seen a blind person passing by, then why were they feeling so affected by his allegation?

"You..." they cleared their throat, "You don't really look like you're blind."

He laughed to himself, "I fool people for a living, fooling you only means I'm still on the top of my game."

They sniffed, backing away a couple of steps, "You seem to have settled with your condition."

He shot his shoulders up and down, indifferently, "Am I or am I not, what difference would it make? I can't change what has happened to me."

There was a long pause. "I assume you haven't been blind your whole life, then."

"Nope," he shook his head, "Barely been blind a whole day."

"Then why are you wandering off London when you have no sense on how to act like a _blind_ man?" their voice suddenly became high pitched, "You could end up injured, you fool!"

If he didn't know better – part of him thought he didn't – he would say they were lecturing him. "Fate tends to be on my side."

They tapped their foot against the floor, angrily, "Fate also tends to let us down."

"It didn't," he was quick to say, "It led me perfectly well to you, didn't it."

Their voice suddenly betrayed them, "Still, you shouldn't be so reckless…"

The Doctor was suspicious on why they cared so much, but he judged better to let it pass. "Do you want to know how I lost my sight?"

"If you want to tell me."

"I do," he agreed, "Under one condition."

"What is it?"

"You let me touch you."

He regretted his words the moment he heard them. He could only conclude they would think he was some sort of perv, would kick them out or worse, call the police. Those hadn't been his intentions, not at all.

" _I'm sorry?"_ they squealed, within reason, distancing themselves even further away from him.

" _Your face._ Let me touch _your face,_ " he clarified, hoping he hadn't just scared the poor soul away. "I want to know the person to whom I'm telling the story. _My_ story."

The silence prolonged for an even longer time. "Alright."

He was surprised when they agreed, but relieved. He felt their approach, and when he assumed they were close enough, he rose his hands in the air, trying to find their features.

Seeing his struggle while palping the air, they grabbed his hands on their own, leading him to their face. The Doctor appreciated their gesture as his fingertips felt the soft skin of their face. He smiled.

Careful not to disturb them anymore than he already was, his movements were slow and uncertain. His thumbs studied their forehead, tracing lines along it. He traced their eyebrows, analyzing how good of an arch they forced. His hands traveled to their apple cheeks, before finding their way to his nose. He almost laughed when he felt it bend into a pointy point. He studied their mouth – he was sure there was a smile hidden on it – touching their wet and delicate lips. He cupped their jawline, their very defined jawline, feeling their long hair touch the back of his hands. The Doctor didn't doubt no more, he was then certain he was talking to a girl.

His grin opened wide, "I like the way you feel."

His ears were delighted by the sound of _her_ laugh, "Thank you?"

"You're very welcome," he joined her chuckle, "Why don't you lead me to a table and I'll tell you my story?"

He only knew she had agreed when he felt her tiny little hands wrap around his arms, guiding him towards the seat. He loved the way she felt, he loved how comforting that simple gesture was. He heard her pull a seat before helping him sit down. Although he hated being treated like a disabled person, he didn't mind how she was taking care of him.

He listened as she took a seat in front of him, "Okay then, I'm all ears."

The Doctor leaned closer to her, resting his elbows against the wooden table. He could feel her warm breath reaching his face, but he didn't mind. "Do you have any idea how beautiful space is?"

"I can imagine, yeah," she agreed.

His head made its way up and down, "Trust me, it's more beautiful than that. But what people tend to forget is how dangerous space is. Space wants to kill us, extinguish us. You might be wondering, _why_? And the answer is very simple: the universe doesn't care."

"Reasonable," she mumbled.

"I missed it. Space. Space is great, I was longing to go there. I wasn't supposed to, I hired a pal to prevent me from going there, but you know how you can never leave a candy in front of a child and not expect them to eat it."

She chuckled, "So you're comparing yourself to a child?"

"I'm over 2000 years old," he shrugged, "So what if I still sleep with a teddy bear?"

The girl simply giggled, ignoring how he had just confessed his absurd age.

"I went to space. With Nardole, my _pal_ , and Bill, my companion. She was thrilled, had never been to space before. We landed at a space station, only problem is, there was no oxygen. You might be thinking, _of course there isn't oxygen, we're in space,_ but the future is full of technology. They build anti-gravity and air bubbles gadget. A suit with an air shield around it!"

"I wasn't thinking that," she reassured him.

The Doctor nodded. "The suit, anyway, is a pretty clever idea. It tells you how many breaths you've got left until you're out of oxygen. What we really did not expect, however, was the suit to have life of its own, _to have a conscience,_ and to kill you whenever it wanted."

"Then how could anyone wear it?" she pondered, her voice full of curiosity.

"They couldn't. Or they'd have to cross their fingers and hope the suit didn't come after them; that's what we did. We had to leave where we had first landed and meet the rest of the crew, who just happened to be very away. He put on the suits. Did I say that we were being chased by the now dead people's suits? Because we were."

"Sounds to me you guys were trapped," she concluded.

"We were," he concurred, "But that wasn't our main problem."

"What was?"

He seemed to think for a while, "Have you ever thought to yourself, how good fear is? When I was a child, a voice in my sleep told me that fear is a superpower. And it's true. When we're afraid, our minds work faster, we run quicker, we get cleverer, we become stronger, all due to the adrenaline running in our veins. Fear makes companion of us all."

"Then why was it a problem?" her voice was stuck in her throat, like she had suddenly been taken aback by his words.

"Because fear makes us breath faster, and the more we breathed, the less time we had to live. So we had to stay calm, let the fear pass right past us," he explained, "Surprisingly, we all managed to keep ourselves together until we reached the rest of the crew."

She was silent, most likely just waiting for more.

"We traded a few words, got chased by more dead people in orange suits. The only way we concluded to escape them, was to go out space, and that's what we did. We put on our helmets and headed off, praying that the suits wouldn't attack us. Our prays were not heard."

"Why?" her voice was soon hit with a wave of worry.

"It attacked Bill. Locked her out of her helmet as the space doors were about to open. Prevented her from breathing. I was left with only once alternative, the only thing I could do to keep her from dying. I gave her my helmet."

"But then you'd die!" she lectured him, even if she was in no position to do so.

"I'm not human, I can hold my breath for way longer than you can, _than she could_ ," he exclaimed. "I knew I would make it out alive, what I did not expect was to lose my vision in the process."

"So you got blinded in order to save her life," her voice was stuck in her throat, saddened.

"If you were in my place, you would do too," he offered her a smile.

"No, I don't think I'm that brave," she whispered, almost ashamed of herself.

The Doctor reached out to grab her hand. He missed at first, but he managed at last, were it for her help or not. "You're braver than you think."

"You've known me for five minutes, how would you know?"

"I don't know," he gave her hand a squeeze, "I just know that you have fire on you. I feel it. I sense your kindness, and how you'd do everything to protect the ones you love."

Had he still got his eyes, he was sure he would see her blush. He wasn't surprised when she abruptly changed the subject, "How… How did you stop the killing suits?"

He leaned back on his seat, but still didn't let go of him. Somehow, her hand fitted perfectly into his, "Capitalism."

"I'm sorry?" she gasped, in disbelieve.

"I mean it!" he yelled in his very strong Scottish accent, "Everything is about capitalism today, everything _will be_ about capitalism in hundreds of years in the future. They were killing people to save oxygen, to save _money_ , so all I had to do was to remind them that killing us would be way more expensive than letting us peacefully breathe."

"And they stopped?" she sounded amazed.

"They did," he agreed, "Shame, isn't it? How everything will be risked falling apart just because of stupid money."

"It is," she agreed, swallowing hard, "What are you going to do next? I mean, now that you don't have your eyes anymore."

Finally, he pulled his hand back to himself, "Haven't got the slightest clue. Mope around, probably, hope people doesn't realize what's wrong with me, _carry on_. That's what life is about after all, isn't it? Moving on."

She took a long breath, "I don't understand, why don't you want people to know about your condition? And why have you told me?"

"I don't want them to think that I'm broken, _because I am not,_ " he answered calmly, truthfully. He was silently for a while, before he got up. He walked to where she was still seated, placing his hand on her shoulder, feeling her underneath him one last time. "I needed a friend and you, my dear, _you_ were my friend."

* * *

 **A/N: Any feedback is much appreciated :)**


	6. Extremis

**A/N: I gotta admit, this story just took a turn I absolutely did not see coming. I hope you'll like where this is heading now :)**

* * *

 ** _"I would try and sleep it all away, but I would find you in my dreams too." – David Jones._**

* * *

 _"Hey, you're back_!"

The Doctor was welcomed by the sweet sound of her voice the moment he entered the same diner he had been not so long ago. He had no idea how he had managed to find the small restaurant again when he couldn't see a palm ahead of him. The universe seemed to be making it up for taking his eyes away.

"Hello," his voice was harsh, stuck in the back of his throat. He didn't know why he had come back there, he didn't know how he had escaped Nardole's constant hovering. He just trusted his hearts to go to the only place where he knew he would be listened, he wouldn't be taken care of, _he would have a friend._

He had no idea what her name was, yet he knew he'd got a friend in her.

"Careful," she warned him, her sound a little closer to him than before, "Or you might slam into the same table you did not so long ago."

The Doctor stopped dead on his track – he had completely forgotten about that incident. He was so focused tried to _see_ her through his sonic glasses he forgot to pay attention to his path. "Right. I forgot."

He heard steps approaching by. "I take you're still blind."

"As a matter of fact, yes," he muffed, his tone lacking the pity it was bound to have. "I borrowed from the universe my eyesight for a few moments, but you know how the universe works, always making us pay for what it gives it. Or was it a dream? I don't know. Reality and fiction tend to equally ridiculous; sometimes it's hard to tell them apart."

He felt her small fingers wrap around his wrists, circling themselves around his pulse. Her hand was cold, even colder than his, like she didn't have a heartbeat to keep her body warm. Why wouldn't she have a heartbeat? "So you're bargaining with the stars, now."

He looked down at her height. Had he still got his eyes, he was sure he would enjoy the view. "You know what they say, bargain is one of the stages of grief."

She chuckled to herself, but he heard her anyway, "You don't seem to me like the kind of person who buys whatever they say."

"Guess I'm not," he shrugged. _She seemed to know him so well,_ even better than himself. "But the real question is, _are you_?"

For the time it took her to reply, he assumed she was either giving it a great amount of thought or had done some sort of movement with her head, forgotten he couldn't see it. "I'd say it depends on who are _they._ "

"Fair enough," he mumbled under his breath.

She tightened the grip around his fist, "Come on, let's get you a seat."

The Doctor let her guide him towards whatever direction. It was a different table from the one he had last sat, he felt the sunlight coming directly at him, warming him, warming both of them. He pulled his seat on his own, expecting her to do the same.

She didn't. "Can I get you anything? This is still a diner; I've got food."

"Food would be nice," he considered, "But I don't have money with me. I don't think I have money at all."

Surprisingly, she laughed at his remark, "I never said you'd have to pay."

The Doctor fussed with his brows, "Do I really have to explain to you how capitalism works?"

The barista cracked a loud giggle. Why did she find every that dared to escape his lips so amusing? "No, I think you've already did a good job on that last time you were here," she explained, "I'm just saying, I like your company. I'm _giving_ you free food."

He twitched his nose, agreeing, "If you really want to. Just remember, I've got a big appetite. I could give your diner a great amount of prejudice."

She whiffed, "I'll take my chances."

She was absent for a few moments, leaving the Doctor to carefully study the darkness around him. When she returned, she dropped a basket full of pastries in front of him. He was startled by it falling down the table, followed by the sound of her voice, "Well, knock yourself off."

He eyed at her direction intrigued, leaving the snacks untouched, "Won't you joy me? I'd hate to be delighted on my own. Besides, your company pleases me. A lot."

Reluctantly, she took the seat in front of his. Her hand moved to reach a tart at the same time his did, causing them to slam against one another. They both awkwardly leaned back, and the Doctor was the one to cut the ice in the air, "I guess we're more in synch than we'd like to admit."

"Hm, how about that," she hissed, tried to sustain her exterior façade as calm as ever. He had lived for too long not to miss the hint of sorrow in her voice.

Clumsily, he stretched his arm, long enough to reach the opposite edge of the counter, where he wasn't surprised to find her hand just waiting for his. It felt so odd how her grip seemed to be made especially for his. "I feel… I feel like I've known you forever."

Her hand slightly started to shake beneath his, but she couldn't pull it away. Not just yet. "Maybe you have."

He shook his head up and down several times. "I've lived a very long life. Longer than you might think I have."

She gave him a slight squeeze, "Who's to say my life hasn't been just as incredibly long as yours?"

The Doctor's lips turned into a twisted smile. "Maybe we've both been running for a long time only to find each other in the end."

She seemed hesitant at first, but eventually, she came to terms with his sentence, "I'd like to believe that, yeah."

Running his tongue against the back of his teeth, he grabbed a pastry from the basket, throwing it inside his mouth. He made no effort to end the bond between the two of them, neither did she seem to mind. "These tastes really good."

The girl didn't seem to really believe his words, "My mum used to be a great baker. I've still got all of her recipes, but unfortunately I didn't inherit her cooking skills."

He whiffed, "You're greater at this than you might think," his words were true to their meaning.

She leaned closer into the table, wrapping his fingers around her own, "You flatter me."

"Flattering is good," he spoke with his mouth fool, "It does wonders to one's egos."

She hummed in agreeance, "I'd take it that you know it better than anyone else."

The Doctor ran his free hand through his messy hair. "Yeah? What gave me away?"

She teased him by being silent for a short while, "How you're dying to tell me your story just so you can get some compliments from me."

"Oh, come on," he blurted out, "I'm not that obnoxious."

She couldn't tell whether he was joking or a serious as he could be, "Have you met yourself?"

He broke into laughter, "Well, then _why_ don't you let me tell you a story and you'll decide how obnoxious I am."

The Doctor could hear her lips turning into a wide smile, so he smiled as well, "Sounds good to me."

He bounced his head, looking straight at the darkness that she was made of. He was afraid the physical contact was bothering her, but did no effort to end it. "I have this friend, who just happens to be my archenemy as well. I love her, but I absolutely dread her. She once called my companion a _pet_ , and now I've had my revenge by making her _my pet_ for one thousand years."

"That doesn't sound like something you'd do," she hypothesized, softly.

"I didn't have a choice," he said in self-defense. "I took an oath, I sworn to guard the vault where she was trapped for that time. Her becoming a pet was just a consequence of my promises."

She swallowed hard, "Right."

"Moving on. Have you ever had a dream that felt _so real_ you couldn't tell fiction from reality apart?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she confessed.

"Well, trust me, Santa Claus is not a real person," he assured. "I was trapped in my own fiction, being as sure as heck that it was real life. When you live a life like mind, you've seen _so many things_ you don't doubt the absurd that is happening right in front of you. Stupid me, how could I actually dream the Pope had come to see me?"

She grinned through her teeth, "So you're having dreams with the Church now. Interesting."

If he didn't know better, he would say she knew about his dreams like nobody else. "Yes. More specifically, with a secret ancient scripture, as old as time, lost in translation. And everyone who tried to read it was left dead. Death by themselves. Of course, I was asked to read the text. The Veritas."

"Why you?" she pondered the obvious, but seemed to already know the answer.

"Because, who else?" he gestured with his free hand, "Then again, how can I read something when I'm blind? They didn't know that, of course. Who would trust a blind man to save the world?"

"See that ego I was talking about," she muffed under the breath, not really expecting a comeback.

He carried on, "We were taken to the forbidden library of the Vatican, where the text silently waited for me. I was carrying this gadget, from my people, that would read the words and transport them to my brain. It could be really useful if you're a student and stressed because of finals," he joked. "We were welcomed by a bright light, like someone had broken in, but how could have any one broken in the most secure place in the Vatican?"

"Who were they?"

"I'm getting there," he held a hand up in the air, "The Veritas was locked inside a cage, so no one would be able to be near it. But then again, what is the main purpose of a cage? To be broken in. By priests, especially. He had a gun in his hand, but that's not the issue. The problem was, he had sent a copy of the translated Veritas out to the world."

She sniffed, "Not the brightest idea."

"Not at all," he agreed, "I connected the reading device to my brain, and waited. I was facing with two possibilities, having my eyesight back temporally, or having my brain fried. Luckily, I was granted with the first alternative, even if it was all still blurry. _I would be able to read the Veritas._ Irrelevant, I should say, as I noticed I wasn't alone anymore, but surrounded by creatures. Not descent and nice creatures, for killing me they desired."

"Did they? Kill you?"

The Doctor chuckled, "You see, you can't die on a dream. If you die there, you die in reality as well, because your body can't tell dream from real apart. As you can see, I'm still here," he grinned, "They took the Veritas away from me, having no idea I had stolen the laptop with its content as I ran away. The moment I thought I had hid away from them, I tried to read the text, but my vision was fading away again."

"I'm sorry," she hummed in a low tone, disregarding he had lost his eyes again only in the land of dreams.

He shrugged, "I managed to escape the place. I have no idea how, but that's the stuff with dreams, isn't it? I was suddenly at the Oval Room, facing the dead president, because he had read the Veritas as well. I told Bill about what it was about, you remember Bill? The scripture narrated about an evil demon who wanted to conquer the world, but in order to do so, it had to _learn_ about the world first. And the only way to do so was by creating a parallel reality, _a shadow reality_ , where everyone thinks they're real, but they're not."

She leaned closer to the table, "Wait, so you're telling me that you weren't dreaming, but stuck in another reality?"

"In general terms, yeah," he nodded, "And the only way to escape that reality was by killing themselves. Killing ourselves. Bill disappeared out of thin air, as that creature, _the demon_ , came to me. They wanted to kill me, they had already killed me too many times. But how do you kill a man made of belief?"

"How?"

"You don't!" he exclaimed, loudly, proudly, "You _delete_ them, like you delete a file from your computer. But you see, the file was once _a part_ of your computer, so you can't truly erase them from existence. What did I do, you might be wondering, and the answer is simple: virtual me emailed real me. Telling myself of all that had happened in that reality, and that I had to stop them from conquering the world."

"Clever," she concluded.

He hummed. "Remember that friend that I had kept inside a vault? Well, yeah. If it comes to it, she'll be my only help to save the world. _To save you."_

He knew she had blushed with his words. "Well, is it what you're doing next? Waiting for the world to be attacked by demons and save it?"

"Yes. Doing what I always do," he smiled briefly, "Wanna come help save the world with me?"

"Nah," she was quick to say, although there was _too much desire_ hidden beneath her voice, "I think you've got enough help already."

He let out a breath, "I could always use some more."

She gave his hand one last slight squeeze, before letting it go. "Then you know where to find me if you do."

* * *

 **A/N: Any feedback is much appreciated :)**


	7. The Pyramid at the End of the World

**_"_** ** _Our love was of the autumn; heady, golden and pure, but limited, always doomed to expire." – David Jones._**

* * *

That day, the Doctor hadn't stumbled into _her_ diner by accident. He had traced his steps from the previous times back to there, unable to know why, just knowing he _had_ to come back. He still had his shades on, judging sometimes it was better to remain in the dark, even if he had gotten his sight back.

But he wouldn't mind telling the nice lady in the little restaurant of it, but not before he ingested every little trait of her; how her hair slightly stroked her shoulders, how her cheeks didn't blush when he complimented her, how her lips turned into a bright smile when she first saw him. How her eyes could swallow entire galaxies by just glaring at them.

No. For now, he would settle with his blindness just so he could see her true self.

He was slowing sipping a cup of tea – one that she insisted to offer him – as he stared into a point right past her. Not to his surprise, she was glancing right back into him, from the other side of the counter, and he didn't feel uncomfortable by her glared. Instead, he usually felt _cared for_.

He was the one to break the silence, after a long wordless period, "We're all walking towards our death."

She frowned her brows, unsure of what he meant with that. "Yes…?"

"I'm not kidding," his voice was harsh, "Every breath you take, every beat of your heart, that's one less you've got until the end."

She hummed, sitting across from him. "What if you don't have a heartbeat? What if don't have any breathes left, and yet you're still alive?"

His left eyebrow bowed in an arch, "I'd say that's impossible."

"Really?!" she almost spat at him, "You're telling me that in the midst of all those _impossible_ stories you've told me, you can't even cogitate the idea of someone being dead _and_ alive at the same time?"

"Fair enough. It's not impossible, just very unlikely," he grunted, resting the cup back in the table, "I could only assume, however, that it's not an easy life. If your heart isn't beating, then you don't have blood running through your veins, which means you can't get hurt, for it wouldn't ever heal. How can you stay alive without getting injured?"

She shot her shoulders up and down, seeming to understand more of the matter than he did. "You just gotta be careful. Besides, it's not the physical wounds that count, but the emotional ones. Not having _those_ means that you're actually proper dead."

His tongue traveled the corner of his lips. "You say it like you've been through a lot."

She cracked a smile, "Haven't you?"

The Doctor made a face, "Guess so."

She was the one to prevent themselves from falling back into the quietude, "But you didn't come here just to discuss our journey to our deaths or how many times we've gotten ourselves broken and glued back together, did you. You wouldn't come back without a story."

It was _annoying_ how well she could read him. "Why would you even say that?"

"Come on, now," she teased, "I know you."

He ironically whiffed, "You don't even know my name."

That didn't stop her, "Does anybody? _Anybody_?"

 _Damn it,_ he thought to himself, agreeing she was right. She appeared to know him from his pasts lives – or was it his future ones? – he just wished she could know her, for she knew him so well. Almost better than he knew himself.

Sighing noticeably, he started, "I was kidnaped by the UN today."

The barista couldn't hold back a chuckle, "Why would the UN kidnap you today? _Ever_?"

He scratched his chin, "Because I'm not very keen on following their commands. Besides, during times of crises, they have no alternative other than kidnaping the president of the world."

She didn't seem astonished, "I can only conclude that's you."

"Unfortunately, " he grumped, "Who else are they going to call when a 5000 years old pyramid appears out of the blue?"

Her face's traits suddenly got a life of their own. "Oh my stars."

She didn't need to say anything more. Had he heard those same words before? After so many years of time traveling, memories started to mix with one another into his mind. "Of course, it couldn't be a human pyramid. It'd got to be alien technology. But I had to see it for myself," he laughed at his choice of words.

She didn't find it funny, however, and his face straightened up.

"I was met by one of the Monks, you know, those demon creatures I told you about the last time I stopped by. Nice fellah, quite ugly, not very keen on talking, at least not before the end of the Earth," he hissed, sarcastically.

"The Earth is still intact, I can guess you didn't have your chat, then."

"I'm getting there," he raised his index finger up in the air, "They set a Doomsday Clock to every single inhabitant of this world, you know, the closer to midnight, the closer to a global disaster. It said 11:57pm. The disaster was looking right at our faces. But how do you stop disaster from happening when you have no way of using your words against them, now before the end?"

Her lips were half opened, "How?"

"You don't. You'd just sit around and wait for the end. I couldn't do that, not as the president of the World, not when an entire species relied on me. Not when everybody was screaming _war_ at me."

She looked down, too sad for any of their liking. "That's not you. You don't ever jump to the easy way out. That goes against everything you've ever stood up for."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he spoke in clichés, getting a roll of eyes from her, "But you know what's the main problem of fighting Monks, demons, or whatever it is that they're called? They see it coming. They _saw_ our attack coming, as the clock turned 11:58, and in a warning, they highjacked our planes, showing us no exterior force would defeat them. And then they said, they were ready to talk."

"Talking is good," she stated the obvious, "Words win wars, don't they."

His head nodded so slightly it was barely noticeable. "They took us to this special room inside the pyramid, full of wires, wires that showed every potential the Earth had of destroying itself. The Monks could stop those tragedies from happening, but the only way of doing so was by being in charge of the planet. They could protect us from ourselves, all we had to do was ask."

"Why did you have to ask?" she was lost.

"Simple: fear is temporary, love is slavery."

"I disagree," she was quick to interfere, leaning closer to him. "Fear accompanies us all through our lives, it's not up to us. It's there from the day we are born until the day we die, and there's nothing we can do to get rid of it. Love, on the other hand, love fades away. It disappears, gets lots in the deep paths of our memories. It's pure Machiavelli, actually. Better to be feared than loved."

"I disagree with your disagree," he stated, leaning on his elbows down the counter as well. "I've lived too many lives, and not all of them were good. But I was never alone, not for one single day. I was always surrounded by both fear and love. But the thing is, you get used to fear, because fear is a good thing, our survival relies on our fear. But when you love someone, when you develop a duty of care for them, you become willingly to break your own rules just to guarantee _their_ survival," he took a small pause, "You put yourself through hell, you enslave yourself to 4.5 billion years of undying torture just so you can save them."

She swallowed hard, strangely looking guilty with his words, and… was that a tear that had just rolled out her eyes? He didn't enjoy seeing her sad, no matter how much of an unfamiliarly familiar she was to him. "Guess you're right."

He agreed, letting out a long breath, deciding to move on as what he said had clearly triggered her. "We rushed out of the pyramid, everybody still panicked at the possibility of self destruction. The leaders made an oath of peace, to impede themselves from killing everybody in World War Three, but it made no difference. The clock was stuck on 11:59. Somewhere else in the planet, people were signing its destruction – was it on purpose or not."

"Who?" she blurted out, too focused to get rid of the wet tray down her cheek.

"That's not the question," he bounced his head, "First, we had to learn how."

"Okay, then how?"

"Bacteria," he had half a grin on his lips, "Now we could ask ourselves who and where the bacteria first originated. It might be a difficult task, yes, but not when you have a genius man from space who puts all the intelligence top-secret information of the Earth on google."

She almost gasped at his remark, "How is that genius! There are people, civilians _always_ lurking."

"We had to be quick, then!", he shouted back, "Nevertheless, you know how _dumb and stupid_ humans can be. They wanted to stop fighting, to give away their world. Why, _why_ can't humans ever listen to a genius man from space at their disposal?" she laughed, "They were off to made the deal, that's I decided to do to the Monks the same thing I had done in me: blind them."

She waited, expecting him to explain.

"I'd end all the broadcast from every single lab from the world, knowing they were watching. But the Monks are powerful creatures, they could easily turn the camera from the one lab they had their eyes on back on, and that's what they did. _And that's_ when we found out where our potential disaster was coming from. I landed my TARDIS there."

She grinned, "I bet the scientists were stoned by the sudden appearance of a telephone blue box."

The Doctor frowned his brows. He didn't recall telling her the shape of this time machine, had he? "They always are. Scientist have a hard time believing things they can't explain, did they only know materializing is pure silence," he shrugged, "The clock was ticking on our ears. We had about twenty minutes before the next cycle of bacteria was released into the air, bacteria that turned into goop everything organic. Destruction of the fittest."

"Twenty minutes isn't much time," she affirmed the obvious.

He nodded, "Me and the nice scientist had to blow up the lab, because what is the other way of destroying bacteria? I had two minutes to get out of there, or I'd blow up, too. And that's when it happened. That's when I _died_."

"You're not dead," she joked with a chuckle, but he could still hear the small hint of despair in her voice.

"The problem with old school technology," he carried on, "Is that my sonic screwdriver can't hack it. How could I disable a combination lock without my eyes? I was doomed. I was ready to accept my death."

"How did you make it out, then?" her voice was distant, like she was scared to know the truth.

"I didn't," his voice was harsh, raspy, stuck in the back of his throat, "Bill, my companion, couldn't let the planet live on without me. So she traded _her planet_ , your planet, for my sight. She gave consent."

"Wait," she held her hand up in the air, expression as perplexed as ever, "You've got your eyes back?!"

"Yes," his face was blank, indifferent.

"Oh my god!" she screamed out loud, too exciting for his liking. She seemed to have forgotten completely about how her planet was doomed, "This is everything! You can see again, why didn't you tell me?!"

For a moment, the Doctor felt guilty for not sharing his secret with her, like he shared everything else. "Because I wanted to _see_ you. Not just the barista who grids me hi when I walk in, but the _real_ you."

He expected to see her blush, but she didn't. Instead, she offered him the sweetest smile she had, "I'm happy for you. I'd hug if I could."

"Why can't you?" he pondered, almost disliking the idea of not getting a hug from her.

"Thought it would be awkward," she spoke in a strong accident, "Besides, I don't really think you're the hugging type."

Sighing, he took his shades out of his face, "I really am not."

She licked the corner of her lips, "Well, what happens now? Now that you've got your eyes back and you can see the world conquered by the Monks?"

The Doctor seemed to think briefly, "Guess I'll lay low for a while. Go unnoticed, until I've found the right time to come back and defeat them."

The girl seemed to become sad, "So you're not coming back."

He stared right into her big brown eyes, "Do you want me to?"

"Does it matter?" she made a face.

"It matters to me," his face was just as sad as hers.

"I…" she tried to find words, but seemed to be out of them.

The truth they were both keen on denying.

"Yeah," he grunted, looking away to the world that was waiting for him outside.

"I'll miss you," she whispered, in a hush he wasn't supposed to hear.

Had he heard her, he made sure to pretend he hadn't. "Well then."

To his surprise, she stood up, walking around the counter so she could stand next to him. He didn't get up, just so they would be at the same height. Clumsily, she threw her arms around him, holding him tight by his neck, resting her chin against his shoulder. "You take care of yourself."

The Doctor nodded, unsure of how to proceed next. He felt loved in his arms, but didn't know how to repay such love. She looked so tiny against him, he had no other choice but to gently rest his hands against her back. "I will. I promise."

She sniffed, pulling away. She didn't care to wipe away the salty tears that had just descended her cheeks, perhaps she hadn't even noticed them. "Off you pop, then. Go be a hero or whatever. Save the planet."

He agreed with his head, not fully comprehending why his eyes suddenly felt wet. "I guess I'll see you around, then?"

She smiled for him one last time, "Yeah. I hope you will."

* * *

 **A/N** : **well, I might have gotten overly excited with all the references in this chapter, and I sincerely apologize. I don't think I'm going to be able to post a new chapter next sunday, but I'll do my best to carry this on throughout the week. As always, feedback is much appreciated :)**


	8. The Lie of the Land

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long! At last, here it is :)**

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _And then there are those memories which time may never make safe, which may always remain jagged and sore, too painful to ever revisit." – David Jones._**

* * *

It had been six crucial months before The Doctor walked back into her diner. It looked so different from the last time he had been there, and yet nothing had changed at all. He had never been a man big on changes, anyway.

Unsurprisingly, he was met by the same warmth smile from always. He was starting to believe the only reason he kept coming back was to see the look on her face whenever they met. The thing was, he couldn't hide his happiness either. _Who the hell was she? And why did she have that effect on him?_

"You're back!" she squealed, jumping from the corner of the counter she was sitting in. He had no idea how she kept the place running, as every time he stopped by, he was her only costumer – and she always made a fair point of never letting him pay. "Did you save the world?"

The Doctor chuckled, offering her a face as he made his way towards her, "You tell me. Is your world still standing?"

She peaked through the glass window, "Since the last time I checked, I guess it is."

He opened his lips in a closed smile, motioning towards the nearest table, to where she willingly followed him. "So I guess I did save the world. Gave you back your monkless world."

Her grin was wide, "Then, in behalf of the human kind, I thank you," she joked, but still meaning her words.

The Doctor smiled with his eyes, as her words fed his soul. "Well, come on then, ask away."

She rose one eyebrow high as it could reach, "Ask what?"

"I see it on your face," he explained, staring at her in a way he was sure many would get uncomfortable with, but not her, "You were counting the days until I came back to tell you how I, once again, saved this precious Earth of yours."

"Your ego is just as big, isn't it," she rolled her eyes, "Isn't it possibly that I was just counting the days because I've missed you?"

He cleared his throat, taken aback by her statement. _He had never been good with human emotions_. "I guess," he lowered his gaze, "Although I'm not sure why would you say that."

Her smile didn't fade away, like she had foreseen everything that he would say, that he would feel. _Oh, how he desired to grab that victorious smile away from her face_. "I think you know why, you're just not willing to admit the truth."

The Doctor bickered his lower lip, knowing by then he had no chance of winning against her. He, the man who never accepted loss, was defeated by a woman whose name he didn't even know. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not. I'm not your common man."

She shook her head up and down, "I've never mistaken you for one."

He let out a long breath, "Alright, you seem to have a fair impression of me, why don't you just let it out? I think we know each other well enough for that already."

 _They didn't_ , as a matter of a fact, but he was anxious to the answer anyway. And part of him knew that she wouldn't deprive of that, either.

"I think you're lonely," she blurted out after a few seconds of silence. "And not in a good way. And I think that's why you keep coming back, opening your heart to a complete stranger when you can do it to the people who care for you."

He didn't dare to interrupt her to remind her that _she cared for him as well._

"I think you push people out, because you're afraid to let it show. There was once people you could have trusted with your life, but those people are gone and now you're afraid that, if you let yourself open again, they'll leave you. Because they always do. You don't have a single constant in your life, so you've learned to bottle it all up."

 _Was he really such an open book?_

"And I think the only reason you make an effort to wonder off saving planets and civilizations is to make it worth all the people you failed to save, were they known to you or not. You're a good man, even if you don't believe in yourself. You're a good man just for _trying_ to make it right."

Her words stabbed him right between his hearts. _Who the hell was she, and how did she know him like she knew the palm of her hand?_ He seemed to analyze her words for a long period of time, before finally saying, "I think you're lying to me."

"I'm sorry?!" she was baffled by his declaration, hands slightly shaking as she pulled them back to herself.

"I think you know more than you're letting it show," he accused, but his tone wasn't harsh or mad, "I think I'm not a _complete stranger_ to you, but for both our sakes, you're pretending you are. And it makes me wonder whether you just want to kill me or just care for me like nobody else ever has. So, come on, tell me. Which one are you?"

She was silent, her eyes bright but not from the spark they usually held, but she didn't dare to turn her glare away. _Almost intimidating him. Almost reminding him._ He couldn't stand the way her eyes inflated when staring at him.

When she didn't answer, the Doctor leaned back on his seat, "Why can't you just tell me?"

He could see the air going in through her nose and out through her mouth. "Because it wouldn't be fair," she whispered, her words barely making it past her lips.

The Doctor impatiently tapped his fingertips against the wooden table, "I'm a big man. I can handle myself."

"God," she snapped at him, angrily, "Has it ever occurred to you that not everything is about you? That I'm just as human as you? That maybe, just maybe, I'm as lonely and as broken as you are?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but she never granted him the chance.

"I've lost people as well, _so many people_ , and not in the best way there is to lose someone. My life is just as complicated, as hard, as unfair as yours, and somehow, I've still managed to keep standing, when all of the world as turned on me. I'm afraid that the day I won't be able to carry on anymore is just around the corner, and _this is why_ I wait for your comeback. You remind me of _myself_ , and not in a good way. You and I… we're just the same."

The man of the words was suddenly left wordless. He wanted to end the eye contact, but if he did, he doubted he would ever be able to restore it. He wanted to get up and storm out of there, but he wasn't ready to see the last of her. Not just yet.

And neither was she.

"How did we get here?" he prompted after a silence she wasn't willing to break.

The girl ironically laughed, "The universe is very keen on playing meaningful games, I'd say."

He nodded, hesitantly, "Why were we picked as lead players?"

She jerked back, "I'm not the woman of the answers."

He stared right into the window to her soul, "What's your name?"

She shook her head in disapproval, "Stop. Don't."

"After everything, I think I'm owed that."

"You're not," she scolded him, "Nobody's ever owed anything. Trust me, I learned this the hard way."

He sighed loudly, "Lie to me, then."

She buried her jaw in her right hand, "I won't."

"Why now?!"

"I would never lie to you."

"How's this any better than hiding me from the truth?"

"What is the truth, anyway?" she squealed, her voice higher pitched than before.

"The truth," he was scared to pick his words, "The truth is me and you. We. In this exact moment, we are the truth."

"No," she corrected him, "We are the lie."

His lips fell half opened as he struggled to push any kind of sound off them, "Eventually, the lie must become the truth."

"That's not how it words," she wettened her lips with her tongue, "Sometimes it's better to hide in the lie than to live in the truth. The truth hurts."

"Living your life hiding away from the pain, that's not the way to live."

She offered him a sad grin, "If I were hiding myself from the possibility of suffering, I wouldn't be here," she hinted, "And neither would you."

The Doctor studied her face, but he couldn't read it. _At all._ "Who are you?" he pleaded, _begged_ , his soul sore from staying in the uncertainty for so long.

"You know who I am," she hissed, voice lacking the amusement it usually held.

He searched every single hidden path of his mind, but she wasn't there. Why wasn't she there? "I'm sorry, I don't think I do."

He couldn't understand why his simple statement made tears fall from her big eyeballs. "See?" her voice was stuck in the back of her throat, "What's the point of facing the truth if we're only going to get ourselves broken _over and over_ again?"

He absolutely hated seeing her sad, needless to understand why. "I wish I could help you. Could ease your suffering."

"I wish you could, too," she confessed, closing her eyes to prevent the remaining tears to fall from them, before opening them back again, "Do you ever wish you could just start it all over?"

He agreed, sharing that feeling down to his soul. To her surprise, he got up from his seat, moving to stand right in front of her. She was perplexed, "What are you doing?"

He offered her the slightest of smiles, "Starting over," there was a smirk hidden in his face, as he granted her his hand, "Hi. I'm the Doctor."

Hesitantly, she wiped the wet tray on her cheeks as she stood up as well, taking his hands into hers. "I'm Clara."

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, I have to admit, this chapter really escaped the dynamic of the previous chapters, but I thought I was quite repeating the story itself and ended up here. I have no idea what's going to happen throughout the next ones, but I hope this has brought to enlightenment to the fanfic as a whole. As always, any feedback is much appreciated :)**


	9. Empress Of Mars

**A/N: This is set under the premise that Missy did go back to the Vault after the Doctor finds her inside his TARDIS.**

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _And in the end, I will seek you out amongst the stars." – David Jones._**

* * *

"What's up with the space suit?"

The Doctor looked down at himself as he made his way inside, "I had to make a quick stop in Mars – there isn't oxygen in mars. I forgot to change."

She offered him a nod, watching him wasting his time by overthinking which seat he should take, "At least it's better than those hideous plaid trousers of yours."

He frowned, unsurprisingly choosing the seat right in front of her, from the opposite side of the counter, "How did you know about those?"

Her jaw dropped and for a brief moment, she seemed out of words. "You must have worn them one of the previous time you've stopped by."

He hummed in acknowledge, deciding it was best just to drop the matter. _He hadn't worn those trousers ever since he lost everything_. "I'm sorry for storming out the last time I was here," he stated, guiltily, "I was hit with a bunch of… emotions I couldn't quite control."

"Understandable," she cleared her throat. She hadn't expected any other reaction from him. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah," he grunted, taking slow breaths, "I was acquainted with someone called Clara once. She was really special to be, so I was just taken aback."

"I'm sorry," she uttered, but he couldn't read the expression on her face, neither comprehend what she was sorry about.

He carried on, nonetheless. "She was special and yet I have no idea what she's like," he sighed, "I forgot everything about her. I used to think I'd absolutely know her if I saw her again, but I'm pretty sure now that I am wrong."

She leaned on her elbows, "And why is that?"

"Because I'm missing what's staring at me right in the face," he declared, unable to end the eye contact, "I'm missing the obvious. I'm missing the barista who has been somehow following me across the stars, making sure I stay alive just to carry on telling my stories. Like a guarding angel."

She blushed, her eyes becoming twice wider. She remained silent.

"It took me a while, but I'm finally putting the dots together," he leaned closer to her, taking her cold hand onto his, "And it's all coming back to you. So I think it's time we all drop our façades and come true with one another," he was quiet for a few seconds, "Are you my Clara?"

"I…" her words were stuck in her vocal cord, and he felt almost bad for the way he had aborted her. _He just had to know_ , he was tired of remaining in oblivion. "I don't think I'm entitled to answer that?"

"Why not?!" he angrily spat, completely ending all the links they had formed between them, "You're the one who can answer me that."

Her eyes traveled through all of the décor of her diner before finally landing back on him, "I can't answer you until you learn the answer yourself."

He shook his head. "I can't answer myself, not without my memories."

She granted him a closed smile, "Then it's time you go looking for them."

"How?" he sounded despaired, lost even. "Please, _Clara_ , tell me how."

She looked just as guilty for not knowing a proper answer. "I… I don't know how. I've never lost my memories."

He buried his head on his hands, rubbing his eyes against them. "Help me find my memories. I'm begging you, Clara."

His request was so sincere she couldn't just deny it. "I'll help you, Doctor, of course I will."

His face brightened up at her saying, resembling a child when offered candy. "Really? You promise?"

Clara could only chuckle at him, "Yes. I promise."

The Doctor was so ecstatic at her consent he jumped onto the table to land a peck on her forehead. He thought she would mind his gesture, instead she just seemed delighted. "Thank you. It's not every day I find people willing to help me like this."

"Lies," she was quick to interfere, "Your friends are always there willing to help you. You're just too stubborn to ask them for help."

He made a face, desire to go against her words, but knowing they were completely true. "You're my friend. I'm asking you for help. What does that say about me?"

She gave him a daring look, "Character development, I'd say."

He was sure she was being sarcastic, but decided just to let her tone pass. "I have one question, and I'd like you to be honest with me. At least this time."

Clara seemed a little hesitant at first, but eventually, she agreed, "Okay, what is it?"

The Doctor simply stared at her for a long time, just trying to find the right words. "Was it you? All those other girls that I ran into, across all time, all dimensions. Were they you?"

She studied each and every one of his traits before finally saying something, "What do you think?"

He bit his lower lip, thinking. "I… I don't think it could have been anyone rather than you."

She shrugged her shoulders up and down, "Then you have your answer."

He nodded, still unable to let go of the matter. "Why, though? Why did you follow me around? _How_ did you follow me around?"

She seemed so pleased at the idea that, for once, he didn't have the answers. She did. "I still have a couple of secrets hidden underneath my sleeve, you know."

His face remained blank. "That doesn't really answer my questions."

Clara let out a deep breath she didn't know she was holding, "I followed you around because someone had to keep you save, unharmed. Yes, I know you're capable of taking care of yourself, but that doesn't mean you don't need friends. Yes, I also know you've got your friends, but having someone to whom you're completely oblivious, just to do a simple thing as talk, isn't a bad thing. I was just there for you. That's already good reason enough."

He listened carefully to her words. "Why me? Out of all the lost and wandering souls in the universe, _why me_?"

"Oh, you know why," she simply let out, teasing him with her silly smile, "You're just not ready to come to terms with it yet."

Once again, he grabbed her by the wrists, but with the only intention of pulling her closer. For a moment, he just held it inside his fingers. "Why are your hands always so cold?"

Clara looked down at their jointed limbs. She was uncertain whether just to carry on with her lies or admit him the truth. "I… Fate?"

He frowned, unsure of what she meant. He tightened his grip around her pulse, not meaning to cause her harm, just intending to _feel_ her. What he didn't feel, however, only made him even more lost. "Why… Why don't you have a heartbeat?"

She tried to pull away, but he didn't let him. Her voice was more distant than ever, "You tell me."

The Doctor traded looks between her face and her arms several times, before finally admitting, "I think you _are_ my Clara."


	10. The Eaters of Light

**_"_** ** _And in the end we are only atoms, drifting alone, desperate for something to cling on." – David Jones._**

* * *

"Clara, Clara, Clara," he repeated her name, tenderly, his own words feeding his ears just as they appeared to feed hers. For the first time ever since they first ran into each other, they didn't meet at her diner, instead at some random bench a Londoner park, a big blue phone booth just at their sight. "I'm glad I've found you, Clara."

She smiled, a closed one, eyeing front, although she knew he was staring right at her jawline. It was autumn and the wind was blowing right into them, getting her short hair to try and blow along. She was wearing a black jacket with a red scarf although she didn't seem to be neither cold or hot. "I just wish you would have found me under other circumstances."

He glared at her curiously. Unlike him, she wasn't leaned on her seat, her back as straight as ever. He wondered if she was purposely hiding him from her face. "What do you mean?"

She chuckled, humorless, but didn't mind his lack of sense. She knew it all too well. "I mean that you're pretending to know me, when in fact I'm no more than a stranger to you."

Her words hadn't been aimed to hurt him, but they did anyway. The Doctor leaned onto his knees, just so he could once again look for her eyes. "Clara," his tone almost scolded her, "I know who you are."

For the first time, she dared to regain the eye contact. "No, you don't," she smiled sadly at him, "But you're trying, and that's sweet. That's enough, for now."

Carefully, hesitantly, he placed his hand on her tight, and was surprised when her small cold hand met his. "But it won't be forever."

"Forever is a _long_ time," she laughed at him, "Besides, don't you think you and I both deserve better?"

"I think _you_ deserve better," he didn't even think of what escaped his lips, "Me, on the other hand, I just take in whatever the universe throws at me."

"And how's that any fair?" she prompted, her eyeballs growing so big they were starting to intimidate him. "Why must my happiness overshadow yours? You've already done _so much_ for the universe, it's about time it starts treating you with respect," she paused for a bit, "But the thing about respect is, you can only have it if you demand it. As long as you're okay being doomed by the stars, they'll just carry on treating you like scum."

He swallowed hard, trying to work himself out of her accusations, but failing given her accuracy. "Maybe… Maybe I deserve it."

"You don't," she was quick as ever, "Nobody deserves it, not even you. _Especially_ you. The universe itself would be _doomed_ weren't for you."

He smirked, sarcastically, "The universe just doesn't care, Clara."

"Prove it wrong, then," her voice was low, yet demanding.

He jerked back, "I can't. I don't know how."

"I do," Clara whispered, " _Remembering_ will grand you the respect you're owed."

The Doctor let out a long breath. He wanted to remember more than anything, to allow her at least that, he just had no idea how. "I'm sorry, Clara, I'm so sorry."

Closing her eyes briefly, she laid her head in the curve between his neck and shoulder. "Stop apologizing. You don't need to apologize. Not to me, anyway."

He rested his chin against her scalp, her human frame providing him heat – not that he needed it. "I'm sorry anyway."

He heard her sigh, snuggling so close to him he could almost feel her heartbeat. "You lost your memories because of _me_. If anyone needs apologizing, it should be me."

"You already did," his words came out automatically, "I don't blame you, Clara."

She sniffed, running the back of her hand against her cheeks. "Funny, isn't it, how we needed to lose each other to find each other again."

He nodded his head, slightly. "There can be beauty in getting lost. Sometimes, we find each other only to get lost all over again."

She wrapped her petite arms around his torso. "I don't want to lose you already. Not when I've just gotten you back."

The Doctor buried his nose in her hair, feeling her sent, "I feel like my time is running out, Clara."

"Don't say that," she pleaded, sounding too much like a frightened child. "You're still not done living this life of yours. You're not."

"Alright," he agreed, still not truly believing it, just trying not to hurt her even further. His eyes fixed themselves on some black birds in the grass ahead of them. "I don't like them."

She fussed her brows together, confused. "You don't like what?"

"Them," he shifted his head towards, "Ravens. Crows. Whatever you'd call them."

She moved uncomfortably inside of his embrace, trying to ease down herself by teasing, "Have you been watching too much Snow White lately, Doctor?"

"No," he was direct, completely missing her playful tone, "They remind me too much of death. I have no idea why I despise them so much, I just know I do. Perhaps you could tell me why?"

"Nah," her voice was stuck in the back of her throat as she stared at the birds as well, "Somethings are meant to get lost oblivion."

He tried to look at her, but once more, she hid her face away from him. "Clara?"

"Really, Doctor, just drop it," she asked, trying to sustain her temper.

"I need to know. You said you'd help me remember, _you promised._ "

Clara shook her head, disapproving, but she knew him too well to think he would just let it go. "I was careless and I let the raven of death find me. I faced the raven in the end and that's why you unconsciously hate them."

" _Oh_ ," he uttered, having nothing else to say. _Stupid Doctor,_ never knew when to stay silent. He could only assume those memories were just unpleasant to her as they would be to him. He cleared his throat, "You want to know what I've learned today?"

She hummed, waiting.

"That crows and ravens don't sulk, _they remember._ Whenever you hear them singing and peeping, they're honoring the memory of someone."

He felt her smile against his skin. "You're saying that somewhere in the world, there are ravens reminiscing me?"

"Perhaps," he concluded. "I hope they are. Someone needs to remember you."

She grinned at his dark humor. "Whether it's true or not, it's a beautiful tale."

He smiled as well, cupping her face and accidentally placing his thumb on her wet lips, but made no effort to remove it. "Do you ever miss it? The life you had before you _died_ and had to give up everything?"

"All the time," she confessed, knowing there was no point in lying to him. "I love being able to travel the universe, but it's heartbreaking not having a home to come back to. I don't exist in this world anymore, and the worst part is, the world has moved on from me. Sometimes I come across my father and my gran, just to know if they're still coping, and as much as all you want is for them to move on from you, it's painful to see that they have. That their lives carried on spinning… without you."

He hurt at the sound of her voice starting to betray her. "You're wrong, Clara, they _haven't_ moved on from you. At all. I don't think they ever will. They struggle every day to get up in a world that you don't exist, but they do it anyway, _for you,_ because it wouldn't be fair to you to have them stop living. But the sorrow never leaves them. They're always going to mourn for you, to miss you, but that won't bring you back, so they have no alternative than moving on… without you."

She couldn't help her apple cheeks from becoming humid. "How… How do you know?"

"The same way you do," he explained, "Have you ever, for just one single day, stopped missing your mum? Or Danny? Or… me?"

She shook her head, finally moving so her face could meet his, her own being a mixture of both happiness and sadness. "You've remembered. All the people I've lost, you've remembered them."

His jaw fell and shaped an _oh_ ; he hadn't noticed it, and he was almost too proud of himself. "I did. I guess I did."

Unable to hold herself back, she threw herself around his neck, hiding herself from the words she was about to say, "I never have. Not for one single day. I've missed you through all of time and space. I still do."

He wrapped his arms around her frame, holding him like he was holding the entire universe. He was sure he was. "I've missed you, too, Clara. Even not knowing who you were, a part of me was missing, I was incomplete; and now that I've found you, I feel like I'm finally putting myself back together again."

She sniffed against him, "We've got to start over, at last."

When he ended the physical contact, she didn't pull herself too far away. Instead, she traced her thin fingers along his grey hair curls, smiling to herself at how big they had grown since the last time she had touched them. She loved the way he felt underneath her, and more than ever, she wished she could just lead him inside _their_ TARDIS and take them to very far away, where no one could ever find him.

"I feel my time running out, Clara," he repeated his words from not so long before, not intending to hurt her, instead opening his hearts for her. She was the only one he trusted enough to do so.

Clara placed her thumbs against his apple cheeks, "You can't foresee the future, Doctor, not when the present is staring at you right in the face."

For a moment, he mistook _present_ for _her_. "I'm scared the present is slipping right through my fingers."

"It's not," she guaranteed, perhaps taken by the same analogy he was, "As long as you take good care of it, the present will be your greatest ally."

His hand met hers in his face, "I really am trying to take good care of it, but I don't know how to make it right."

"You just have to be brave, Doctor."

He swallowed hard, "I don't like brave people. Brave people sacrifice themselves for nothing."

Clara let out a sad chuckle, unsure if he knew he was talking about _her_. "That's not true. Brave people sacrifice themselves for the greater cause, for the sake of saving everybody else. Isn't that what you've been doing ever since you first ran from Gallifrey?"

The Doctor could swear he was seeing glimpses of her soul through her pupils. "You overrate me, Clara."

"No, I don't," she offered him the truest of smiles, "Because you taught me how to be brave, too."


	11. World Enough and Time

**A/N: This takes place sometime before The Doctor, Bill, Missy and Nardole landed in the colonization ship, as I judged best to write a chapter about it once the serial is over. Needless to say how pissed and annoyed I am at Bill's death, but hopefully I'll write about it next week as well.**

* * *

 ** _"Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction." – David Jones._**

* * *

"Doctor, slow down!"

The Doctor stopped dead on his track and finally dared to look behind him. Clara was standing a few feet away from him, obviously trying to keep up with his pace, but failing given the shortness of her legs. Reluctantly, he judged better to wait for her; she didn't look at all fatigued by their recent running. Perks of not having a _body,_ he guessed.

Never once she let the smile fade from her face, "Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?"

Deciding he was no more in a rush, he let himself wander away side by side with her. "I told you; I want to show you around."

She cracked a giggle, crossing her arms against her chest, "We're breaking into a university in the middle of the night, Doctor, we haven't at least been able to turn on the lights. I sincerely hope you know where we're headed because I can't tell my shadow apart anymore."

He gave her a look that said _how can you still doubt me after all these years,_ only to be returned by a _you damn well know why I still do_ one. "I know my way around, don't worry."

"You don't know your way around your own TARDIS, I'm sorry if I'm having a little time believing you," she reasonably argued, using the excuse of the cold weather to lean closer to him, regardless if she hadn't been able to tell hot from cold apart for ages now.

He whiffed, disbelieved, "Are you seriously telling you can walk around _your_ TARDIS without getting lost? _At all_?"

She frowned her lips, "Of course I can. Unlike you, I don't go around forgetting where I've put rooms and such."

He didn't have to be a genius to understand that, by _such_ , she had referred to herself. Despising where that statement would potentially lead them, he abruptly changed the focus of their conversation, "Well, in my defense, I've been coming here every day for decades now. I'm pretty sure I'm past the point of getting lost, by now."

Clara rested her head against his upper arm. "Is that why we're coming in the midst of darkness? So you can show yourself off to me?"

"Nah, you've already seen that too many times," he shrugged, his words being truer than ever, "I've brought you while it's still dark so we will remain unnoticed."

She turned her head to stare at him; more precisely, at his jawline. "Are you hiding me from your friends? Is that what it is now? You're ashamed of me or something?"

"Of course not, Clara," he snorted, feeling slightly hurt by her accusations. He would never be ashamed of her, why would he? "But Nardole can be really, _really_ annoying."

Although she tried to sustain a straight face, the amusement had gotten over her, "If he's so annoying, why do you keep him around?"

Scratching his chin as he passed the same hall for the third time in the past five minutes – she made sure to let it slide that time –, he elaborated, "You know when you step onto gum when walking down the street and there's just no getting it out of your shoes?" he waited for her nod, "That's Nardole for you."

She grinned softly as they finally made it to a complete stop, in front of a big wooden door. Clara looked at it curiously, expecting the Doctor to take the first step, but he never did. "So… What exactly are we looking at?"

He was smirking like a proud child, "Do you like it?"

"Do I like what, the door?" she raised her brows, glancing at it up and down several times before she finally let any sound come out of her mouth, "It's… A very interesting door."

"I know right, isn't it," he was smiling to himself more than to her, "This, Clara, is the door to my own office."

"Your office?" she was confused, trading looks between him and the entrance, "Why did the university give you an office?"

The Doctor seemed offended at her lack of comprehension, "Because I work here!"

Clara almost gasped at his affirmation. "You? Working? An actual proper work? Wow, that is surely some improvement. I would have never expected you to settle down."

He made a face at her choice of words, "I haven't _settled down_ ," he corrected her, "I was just taking a break from traveling and one thing led to another."

She hummed, not truly believing him. "That looks like settling to me," she hissed, "Why a university? Why a professor?"

For a moment, he allowed the quietude to overflow them. "Because, somewhere in my mind, there was an English teacher who taught me everything. Who taught me about myself. I couldn't let that legacy die with them; someone had to carry it on, might as well be me."

Clara was thankful for the penumbra so he wouldn't see her blush tremendously. "That's… That's noble of you," she whispered, unable to tell what kind of emotions were flying through her body.

The Doctor completely ignored her assessment, "So? Want to take a peek inside?"

Her face turned into a foolish smile, "You say that as if you already didn't know the answer."

Taking her hand in his, he took her inside, finally turning on the lights. They both had to take a moment to adjust to the blinding brightness, and then she smiled. Breaking out of his touch, she wandered around, studying every single of his things, wondering why he had placed any and everything, chuckling to herself when she would understand his reasons.

Her eyes stopped dead on a certain object hanging in the wall. Her lips opened wide as she pointed at it to ask him, "So you're a music professor?"

Whiffing, he followed to retrieve his guitar. "Personally, I'm not exactly sure of what I teach. Whatever feels like being taught, actually."

Clara leaned against the edge of his desk, "Why am I not surprised," she pondered, "Do you still play?"

"From times to times," he confessed, sitting down at his big chair to place the musical instrument atop of his lap, "When it feels right."

She nodded, wondering if she were reason enough for him to play some tune. "I've always loved hearing you play. I don't know how, but you've always brought magic to whatever you were performing. It was lovely, yeah."

The Doctor's smile met hers. As he pulled his sonic glasses out of his coat, he asked her, "Would you like to listen to it?"

Her joy couldn't have been expressed down to words, but he could read it written all over her face. He played the first notes, "They say music is medicine for the soul."

Clara bit her lower lip at the sound feeding her ears. She had heard it already, so many moons before. She remembered vividly how she watched him compose the song during some lazy dawn at the TARDIS. She reminisced painfully how he had played it to her when he had no idea who she was anymore. "What if you don't have a soul?"

He seemed to think for a while. Not about the upcoming chords, no, he already knew them off the top of his head. "Then I guess music outlives the soul. They're so much more. It's just a matter if you're actually hearing them or not."

She nodded, letting the vibration of the strings be the only sound in the room for a while. "What am I supposed to be hearing right now?"

The Doctor made a face; _wasn't it obvious?_ He sighed, "You. This is your song, Clara."

Her lips fell from the glim they were holding. She hadn't expected him to remember it. "It's beautiful."

He kept himself back from rolling his eyes. "Of course it is. It takes its beauty after its namesake."

Clara's cheeks reddened, but she didn't seem to be uncomfortable by his statement, unlike him. She looked for his eyes, but they were too focused on following the strings. "Thank you," she whispered, too softly, so daintily she didn't expect him to hear her.

He mumbled some words, ones that she couldn't quite understand, feeling a little intimidated by her eyes on him. He just let his focus remain down to his guitar. "How could I have forgotten your own song, Clara?"

She let out a restless breath – he knew her too well. "I don't know," she shrugged, almost adding, _how could you have forgotten me?_

"I didn't forget it, Clara, but neither I remembered it," he said and she frowned, "But when I first picked my guitar after whatever happened that tore us apart, it was the only song I knew how to play."

"Memories become songs when we forget them," Clara concluded, using the same words she had when they first met inside her diner.

For the first time, he dared to look up and find her eyes. He wasn't surprised to see them waiting for him. "Clara?"

She only sustained their glare.

"I'm afraid the memory of you will hurt too much once I remember you and you're gone," he wasn't trying to sound pitiful. He was lost inside of his own body and mind.

Clara stepped down from his desk, lowering herself so they would be at the same height, "Isn't that the purpose of every single memory? To hurt and haunt us until we cannot breathe? To teach us how we took for granted everything that we had until we had it no more?"

He stopped performing all of a sudden, leaning his head closer to hers, his fingers no longer able to play. "That doesn't mean we come to terms with them."

She smiled sadly, cupping his face with her cold palms, "No, it doesn't."

Silently and without asking for permission, she took his guitar from his lap and placed it away, taking its place on his skinny legs. "Lucky for you that I'm not going anywhere."

As she was a few inches taller than him, the Doctor took the opportunity to lay his head against her chest. He couldn't help but to feel a little discomforted at her lack of a heartbeat. "I can't have you forever, Clara. You said it yourself."

She wrapped her arms around his head, tugging him close to her, letting his energy flow to her energy-less body. "What do I know? I'm just as unsure as you are, about anything. About _everything_."

The Doctor allowed her to rock him like a scared child. In most days, he was nothing more than one. "I'm scared, Clara."

Clara buried his nose in midst of his curly grey hair. "I know. I'm scared to."

He closed his eyes, trusting her enough to take care of him. To be his guarding angel. "Time is our greatest asset and our worst enemy."

She agreed with a bow. "Don't let time intimidate you. If you do, you might run out of it by trying to run away _from_ it."

The Doctor held her tightly, letting her sent invade his nose, if she still had any. "When did you become so wise?"

She grinned against him, "I've lived a long time. Perhaps even longer than yours."

Although he couldn't know whether she was joking or not, he agreed, "Isn't it awful being this immortal and this... lonely?"

Clara felt the oxygen get stuck in her throat as she heard the most truthful words in her not so short life. "Yes."

He knew her words were just as hollow as his. More than never, they shared not only a story, but their loneliness as well. It was, at least, better than being lonely, alone.


	12. The Doctor Falls

**A/N: I've still got shivers from last saturday's episode; Bill was given the perfect ending, and I'm ought to thank Moffat for that. How thrilled I am to know that the Doctor finally remembered Clara, so I thought there was nothing else I could have written about this chapter rather him finding her again.**

 **This is set sometime after the Doctor leaves his TARDIS for the last time and before the first Doctor appears.**

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _We are nothing more than space dust, trying to find its way back to the stars." – David Jones._**

* * *

He remembered.

 _He remembers._

The Doctor lurched out of his time machine. He was dizzy, his brain exploding with all the flooding memories just uncovered setting back to him. So many memories _of love and loss_ that had taken been taken away from him so unmercifully and returned so brutally. _Given back at last._

He couldn't regenerate. Not just yet. Not when he hadn't found _her_ again and told her he did it. He had remembered every one of their adventures, of their conversations, of their travels. _He remembered her._

"No!" he screamed to the void. Heard by no one but the falling snow. He buried his hands deep into the ground, using the frozen water as mechanism to prevent himself from regenerating. He had to last longer. He had to find her before it was too late.

"Clara," he called her name, on the edge of breaking down. He knew the chances of her hearing him were too close to impossible, but he had to anyway. She was his only hope. " _Clara._ "

The Doctor wasn't surprised when the universe didn't grant him any answers.

"Clara," her name kept looping itself on his mind, "I remember you, Clara. Are you proud of me? _I remember_."

He felt his hearts aching just as someone knelt next to them.

 _She_ did.

"Clara," he cried her name, reaching out to feel her underneath the palm of his hands. God, how he had missed the way she smiled and laughed and looked. _She was too perfectly flawless._ "Clara, you found me."

The way her lips curled into a grin fed his eyes. His soul. "Of course I did, you silly old man. I'm your guarding angel, aren't I?"

When the Doctor felt her skin beneath his fingertips, he knew everything would be alright. "You were watching me?"

She hummed in acknowledgment. She didn't appear to be bothered by the cold, and neither was he. "Someone had to make sure you made it out alive."

"But I didn't," he was quick to interfere, not aiming to contradict her words, "I'm dying."

"We all face the raven in the end, Doctor," she explained, letting him rest his head against her chest, "You taught me it yourself."

"I don't want to change, never again," his words were adamant, harsh even. He was scared to search for her eyes, as he knew she would try to knock some sense into him. And mostly like succeed. "I'm not changing."

"You are, Doctor," unlike him, she sounded calm, sweet even. She didn't have to push him to believe her, because whether he did or not, he would change anyway. "There's no point in fighting what you cannot win."

"I will win, Clara," he was near the point of desperation, "After everything I've done for the universe, I think I'm owed that. At least that."

He had no idea the last time she had sustained her composure so well. "I think you know better than that," he could almost hear the tone of amusement in her voice, "It's time to set your worries and fears aside and let go."

" _No_ ," he wasn't backing down. Not just yet. "Clara, don't you understand? I'm right here, and I refuse to lose you all over again."

Had Clara still gotten a heartbeat, she would have felt a twitch coming from it. "You're not losing me, I will _always_ live on inside of you," she ran her hands through his torso, in vain attempts of touching his soul, "But it's time to go."

"Clara," his call had suddenly become weak as he finally managed to hold the regeneration energy inside of himself, "I remember you, Clara."

He felt her smile soften against the warm skin of his face, "You don't have to lie to me," she ran wrapped the curls of his hair around her index finger, "It's okay to forget. Somethings are meant to get lost in oblivion."

Shivering slightly, he pulled her face next to his. "I'm not lying. I could never lie to you, Clara."

She froze underneath his hold.

Their lips were so close they were almost touching. "I remember everything. I remember you sacrificing yourself for me, _over and over again_. I remember how on your first adventure you saved an entire civilization from a parasite god. I remember you facing ice warriors and being offered to be queen of the universe."

Hadn't he known she didn't have a heartbeat, he would have guessed she had just died right next to him. "I remember you saving Gallifrey from me; how you didn't let me burn my own home planet. I remember changing my face and being _terrified_ , just as scared as you were, and yet you helped me find myself again. I remember the mummy on the orient express and watching you be a mighty fine doctor when the TARDIS shrank.

"I remember you mourning for Danny, and yet being brave enough to defeat an entire army of cybermen. I remember you inside of an Dalek because Missy thought it would be funny; I remember almost killing you because she tried to convince me you had killed _my Clara_. I remember a zygon you and fearing they had killed you as well. I remember watching you die and being unable to save you, not until I came back to Gallifrey and pulled you out of your own time stream. I remember _stealing_ you from your heartbeat and then trying to steal _me_ away from your mind.

"I remember having a duty of care. Knowing there was nothing in the universe that would threaten you and I apart, not until we threatened the universe itself. And throughout all my fears and flaws, you were there. You were there being right and seeing the best of me, when there was nothing else to be seen. Clara Oswald, I remember _you_."

Her breathing was audibly coming in and out of her mouth – although she hadn't needed it for ages, she'd always relied on it as a coping mechanism. Her eyes were focused on some random spot at the snowy ground, but she wasn't really looking at it. She could feel his presence right next to her, and it brought her _peace_. "Doctor…?"

"Clara," he repeated her name again, assuming her to be just as shocked as him. He had no idea how he had managed to survive for so long without his memories, but one thing he knew for sure; he was never letting go of them again. Clara Oswald had then become part of who he was.

"I've…" she swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but they didn't exist. "I've picture this moment so many times, so many _ways_ , but now that it's happened, I don't know how to deal," she laughed, ashamed of herself.

"Understandable. I'm not exactly sure of what I'm feeling, either," he confessed, finally pulling himself away from her lap so their heads could be at the same height.

She sniffed, running the back of her hands against the corner of her eyes before anything had the chance of escape them; unsuccessfully. "I don't know why I'm crying."

He chuckled, sharing her feeling, "Me either."

"Is this what happiness feels like? Relief?" she pondered, changing looks between his eyes and his hands. For some reason, his iris seemed much grazer than usual. "Love?"

He shook his head, sadly, "Loss," his voice was just as low as a whisper; what good was remembering her when he was bound to _change_ again?

"I haven't lost you yet. You haven't lost me yet," she stated the obvious, for once wishing the snow would cease from falling onto them. It made it all seem too much _real._ She was tired of reality.

He grinned, ironically, "You were just saying how it's time to change."

"Because it is," she gulped, feeling betrayed by her own words, "But it doesn't mean we can't make forever out of one second."

Carefully, he reached out to hold her hand. "You don't have to worry. I'm not changing right now."

"But the regeneration energy-"

"Is being stored away," he concluded, "I'm sorry to disappoint but you're sticking with me for a little longer."

She beckoned her lower lips, "I couldn't ask you for that. I already did, when I first saw you regenerating; it wouldn't be fair to do it again."

The Doctor placed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, "Don't be silly. How can you ask against something that isn't happening in the first place?"

She whiffed a sad laugh.

"I've missed you, Clara Oswald," he cupped her jawline in his hand, pulling her closer than she was before. "I've missed your laugh and your smile, the way you talk and the way you look. I've missed how you make me feel like the most special being in the universe and yet the most insignificant person."

She touched her forehead against his, the snow starting to bury their limbs in the ground. "No, Doctor," she started, "That was always you."

He pulled her between his legs, welcoming her in his embrace, "I'm glad I've got you back."

Clara rested her head against his shoulder, "You've had me back for a while now."

"No, what I had was no more than a ghost, living under the shadow of the person I once thought I knew," he articulated, "Remembering you brought you back to me. God, how did I live for so long without you?"

"Because you weren't _without me_ ," her words were muffed by his velvet coat, "I never left your side, unconsciously or not. Physically or not. I was there for you the entire time."

"Then why did I always feel like a part of me was missing?" he conjectured, "All I know is that, now that I have you, I feel whole again."

Hesitantly, she agreed with a bow. "I'm glad that you found me, Doctor."

Tenderly, he kissed her temple, the corner of her eye, her apple cheek, the corner of her lips. Just letting her know how loved she was; by him and no one else. "I'm never losing you again, Clara. You have my word."

"Alright," she smiled against his alien torso, being comforted by nothing but the sound of his heartbeats echoing through her ears. Somehow, they almost made it up for her lack of one. She let herself rest against him, ignoring the clock ticking right behind them. The Doctor seemed willing to spend the rest of his short life just snuggling her close.

Until they were startled by the sound of upcoming footsteps.

Clara backed away almost instantaneously, "What was that? Is someone coming, Doctor?"

"I don't know," he said, leaning his hand against her back, "Where is your TARDIS?"

"What?" she was taken aback by his request, "Can't I stay with you?"

His hazel eyes met her chocolate ones. They were both begging. "How I wish you could, but Clara… I don't want to see you hurt. Not again. And you know how dangerous it is being near me."

"Doctor, I can take care of myself," she rolled her eyes.

"Of course you can," he nodded, "But you're _frozen in time_ , Clara. If you get hurt, _because of me_ , I won't be able to heal you back, and that would kill me. Please? For once in your life, just do as you're told."

Sighing deeply, she finally agreed with him. "Alright, I'll go, but…" she cleared her throat, "Will I see you again?"

"I wouldn't dream of otherwise," the Doctor offered her the snuggest face he had gotten.

Her smile met his as she pecked the corner of his face, changing one last glare before she got up and rushed in the opposite sound of the upcoming sound. The Doctor took a deep breath as he leaned back on his knees. "Hello? Is someone there?"

 _"_ _Who is that_?"

The Doctor didn't think twice before affirming, "I'm the Doctor."

 _"_ _The Doctor? Oh, I don't think so. No, dear me, no."_

He was confused until his eyes grew adjusted to the mirror standing just a few feet away from him.

 _"_ _You may be_ a _Doctor, but I am_ the _Doctor. The original, you might say."_

* * *

 **A/N: So, I think this is. I've loved writing this so much, and for now I can only hope we will actually see Clara Oswald back in the Christmas special, perhaps I'll even write a chapter for that episode. Thank you all who have taken the time to read and review this, you're truly a blessing :)**


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